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NOBODY’S ROSE 

% 

A STORY FOR GIRLS 


BOOKS BY ADELE E. THOMPSON. 

SCJjE Brabe l^eart Series. 

Five Volumes. Illustrated. Each $1.25. 
BETTY SELDON, PATRIOT, 

A Girl’s Part in the Revolution. 

BRAVE HEART ELIZABETH, 

A Story of the Ohio Frontier. 

A LASSIE OF THE ISLES, 

A Story of the Old and New Worlds. 

POLLY OF THE PINES, 

A Patriot Girl of the Carolinas. 

AMERICAN PATTY, 


BECK’S FORTUNE, 

A Story of School and Seminary Life. 
Illustrated by Louis Meynell. $1.25. 

NOBODY’S ROSE, 

Or The Girlhood of Rose Shannon. 

Illustrated by A. G. Learned. Price, Net $1.00. 
Postpaid $1.12. 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON. 








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“Now I’m Kose, I’m nobody’s Rose! ’’ — Faqe 270 



NOBODY’S ROSE 

OR 

The Girlhood of Rose Shannon 


BY 

ADELE E. THOMPSON 


ILLUSTRATED BY A. G. LEARNED 



BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 



Copyright, 1912, by Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 
Published, August, 1912 

All Rights Reserved 

Nobody’s Rose 


NORWOOD* PRESS 

BERWICK & SMITH CO. 

NORWOOD, MASS. 

U. S. A. 


gCI.A31fi421 

7 ^ ( 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I 

PAGE 

How Posey Came Adrift 11 

CHAPTER II 

An Exposure 30 

CHAPTER III 

The New Home 42 

CHAPTER IV 

The New Life 54 

CHAPTER V 

The Picnic 71 

CHAPTER VI 

The Storm Breaks 85 

CHAPTER VII 

A Desperate Resolve 93 

CHAPTER VIII 

A New Acquaintance 108 

CHAPTER IX 

Two Happy Travelers 123 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER X 

PAGE 

Ben’s Story 135 

CHAPTER XI 

A Storm, and a Shelter ,• . 147 

CHAPTER XII 

A Parting op Ways 162 

CHAPTER XIII 

A Door Opens 173 

CHAPTER XIV 

Posey Becomes Rose 185 

CHAPTER XV 

At the Fifields’ 195 

CHAPTER XVI 

Under a Cloud 206 

CHAPTER XVII 

Sunshine Again 219 

CHAPTER XVni 

Gkbat-Uncle Samuel 236 

CHAPTER XIX 

Rose Finds a Resting-Place 247 

CHAPTER XX 

Paying Debts 257 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER XXI 

PAGE 

The Box from Great-Aunt Sarah 266 

CHAPTER XXII 

Quiet Days 275 

CHAPTER XXIII 

A Visit from an Oud Friend 284 

CHAPTER XXIV 

And College Next . . . 294 


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ILLUSTEATIONS 


‘ ‘ Now I ’m Rose, I ’m nobody ’s Rose ! ’ ’ 

(Page 270) Frontispiece ^ 

FACINQ PAGE 

Out of the door of the cabinet a white, 
shadowy little figure had lightly floated . 32 

It was an hour that Posey never forgot . . 76^ 

^‘When I get a farm I shall need somebody to 


keep the house 144 

^‘Here is a clue to Rosens family” .... 216 1/ 
Clear Jarvis and no mistake” .... 238 




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NOBODY’S ROSE 


CHAPTER I 

HOW POSEY CAME ADEIFU 

Out in the open country the day was dull 
and grey, with low-hanging clouds and occa- 
sional drops of slow-falling rain, but in the 
city the clouds of smoke hung still lower than 
those of the sky, and the dropping soot-flakes 
made black the moisture gathered on the 
roofs of the houses, the leaves of the trees, 
and the sidewalks trodden by many feet. 

It was on a city street, one where the 
smoke-clouds from the tall chimneys trailed 
low and the soot fell in its largest flakes, that 
ever and again a sound asserted itself above 
the beat of hurrymg feet. The sound was 
not loud, only a little girl sobbing softly to 
herself as she shrank with her head on her 
arm at one side of an open stairway; and 
the words that she repeated over and over to 
herself, “What shall I do? Where shall I 
11 


12 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


goT’ were less in the nature of questions 
than a lamentation. But children tearful, 
loudly, even vociferously tearful, were in that 
vicinity so frequent that people passed and 
repassed the child without giving to her 
thought or heed. 

For the street was one more populous than 
select, and while the tall red brick houses that 
bordered it had once aspired to something of 
the aristocratic, they were now hopelessly 
sunken to the tenement stage ; while the neigh- 
boring region leading through the sandy open 
square of the Haymarket, where loads of hay 
always stood awaiting purchasers, down the 
long steep hill to the river, with its crowded 
shipping and its border of great lumber 
yards, shops, and factories, had never made 
pretense to anything except poverty of the 
most open and unattractive kind. In sum- 
mer the whole region fairly swarmed with 
the overflowing inmates of the overcrowded 
houses. Children were everywhere, in large 
part barefooted, ragged, and so dirty that 
they might easily have been taken for an out- 
growth of the sandheaps in which they bur- 
rowed and buried themselves when tired of 


HOW POSEY CAME ADRIFT 


13 


the delights of the street. To see them there, 
in utter indifference to the constant passing 
of heavily loaded teams sometimes prompted 
the inquiry as to how many were daily killed? 
But though, on occasion, they were dragged 
from under the very horses’ hoofs by the un- 
tidy women whose shrill voices were so often 
heard sounding from open doors and win- 
dows, few were the accidents to either life 
or limb. 

The not distant city market house increased 
the crowds, especially at certain hours of the 
day, as also the street venders and itinerants 
who contributed their full share to the noise 
and confusion. Hook-nosed old men, with 
bags over their shoulders, and shrill cries of 
‘‘P-a-p-e-r r-a-g-s” abounded; the organ- 
grinder with his monkey was a frequent fig- 
ure, with the invariable crowd of youngsters 
at his heels ; the maimed and the blind, wear- 
ing placards appealing to the public sym- 
pathy and extending tin cups for contribu- 
tions, were to be found on the corners; the 
scissors-grinder’s bell was a common sound, 
as were the sonorous offers of ^ ‘ Glassputin. ’ ’ 
Here was a man loudly and monotonously 


14 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


appealing to the credulity of the public, and 
soliciting patronage for his wonderful for- 
tune-telling birds, a little company of dingy 
and forlorn-looking canaries, who by the se- 
lection of sundry envelopes were supposed to 
reveal the past, present, and future. There, 
another man exhibited a row of plates with 
heavy weights attached, and extolled the won- 
derful merits of his cement for mending 
crockery, while the sellers of small wares, 
combs, pocketbooks, letter-paper, cheap jew- 
elry, and the like, added their calls to the 
rest. 

A few of the houses still retained a dingy 
scrap of yard, where thin and trampled grass 
blades made an effort to grow, but the most 
part had been built out to the street and con- 
verted into cheap restaurants, cheap clothing 
shops, cheap furniture shops, and the class of 
establishments that are cheap indeed, espe- 
cially as regards the character of their wares. 

In such a confusion of people and sounds 
it is not strange that a small girl crying to 
herself would attract so little attention that 
even the big, fat policeman on that beat 
passed her a number of times before he no- 


HOW POSEY CAME ADRIFT 


15 


ticed her, and then did not stop, as he saw that 
she was well dressed. At last, as she still 
remained crouched down in a dejected little 
heap, he stopped, moved as much by the 
thought of a little girl in his own home as 
from a sense of duty, with the inquiry, 
^‘Here, Sis, what’s the matter with you?” 

She started up at the brusque hut not un- 
kindly tone, and lifting from her sheltering 
arm a round and dimpled face, with wide grey 
eyes, now swollen and disfigured with tears, 
answered brokenly and in a half-frightened 
voice, for the policeman stood to her as the 
terror rather than the guardian of the law, 
^ ‘ Oh, I don’t know what to do ! I don’t know 
where to go!” 

‘‘You don’t, eh? Well, it seems to me you 
are a pretty big girl to get lost ; where do you 
live ? ’ ’ 

“I don’t live anywhere,” with a fresh sob. 

“That’s rather queer, not to live any- 
where,” and he looked at her a trifle more 
sternly. “What’s your name, if you have 
any?” 

“Posey Sharpe.” 

“Oh, indeed,” and he glanced at the stair- 


16 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


way before him, where a small black sign with 
gilt lettering on the step just above her head 
read, 

‘‘Madam Atheldena Sharpe, 

‘ ‘ CLAIKVOYANT. ’ ^ 

“So that was yonr mother, was it, who 
raised all that row here last night?” 

“No, she wasn’t my mother, but I lived 
with her. ’ ’ 

“If she wasn’t, how comes it your name is 
the samel” 

“It isn’t, really, only I’ve lived with her so 
long that people called me that. She said 
I was her niece, but I wasn’t any relation at 
all.” 

He looked at the sign again, “Madam 
Sharpe. Well,” with a chuckle at his own 
witticism, “she wasn’t sharp enough to keep 
from being exposed. And you were the 
spirit child, I suppose!” 

Posey nodded, a very dejected-looking 
spirit she seemed at that moment. 

“Well, when she took herself off so sud- 
denly why didn’t you go with her!” 

“I ran up under the roof and hid, and I 


HOW POSEY CAME ADRIFT 17 

didn^t know till this morning that she had 
goneP’ 

see; and was she so good to you, and 
did you think so much of her that you are 
taking on this wsijV’ 

Posey hesitated a moment. ‘‘She might 
have been better, and she might have been 
worse,’’ she answered with a candor of sim- 
plicity. “But I haven’t anybody else to live 
with, and I didn’t think she’d use me so.” 

“I see; it was rather rough.” There was 
sympathy in his tone, and even in the way he 
tapped his knee with his polished club. 

“And,” continued Posey, “this morning 
the man who owns the place came and he was 
awfully mad and cross. He said Madam 
Sharpe owed him for rent, and that she had 
hurt the reputation of the building, and he 
told me to put my things in my trunk, and he 
shoved it out into the hall and told me to clear 
out, and he locked the door so I couldn’t go in 
again. And I haven’t had any dinner, nor I 
haven’t a cent of money, nor anywhere to go, 
and I don’t know what’ll become of me,” and 
she wrung her hands with another burst of 
tears. 


18 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


Here was the cause of her misery — the sem- 
blance of home, care, and protection, poor 
though it was, had been suddenly stricken 
away, leaving her a helpless, solitary estray, 
a hit of flotsam at the mercy of the world’s 
buffeting currents. Nor was her misery 
softened by even the dubious bliss of igno- 
rance that most children enjoy as to the 
sterner realities of life, for already in her 
eleven years she had learned only too well 
what poverty implies, and how sad a thing it 
is to be friendless and homeless. 

Poor little Posey, with her soft eyes, dim- 
pled mouth, and rosy face, she seemed made 
for sunshine and caresses. Scant indeed, 
however,, had been her measure of either. 
Her earliest remembrance had been of a home 
of two rooms in a tenement, a poor place, 
from which her father was often absent, and 
sometimes returned with an unsteady step; 
but a home which held the greatest earthly 
gift, a loving, tender mother. She was a pale, 
sweet, sad-faced young mother, who shed 
many tears, and lavished on her little daugh- 
ter all the wealth of love the heart can bestow 
on its one treasure. But as time went by she 


HOW POSEY CAME ADRIFT 


19 


grew thinner and paler, the flush on her cheek 
deeper, and her cough sharper, more fre- 
quent, till even Posey, with a child’s appre- 
hension, would throw her little arms around 
her neck, with a vague fear of what she could 
not have told herself. Then came a time 
when her mother could not rise from her bed ; 
and at last, when Posey was six years old, the 
thread of life that had been so long failing 
suddenly snapped. 

When the mother realized that the end was 
at hand she called her child to her and kissed 
her again and again. ‘^Darling,” she said, 
holding her to her as though mother-love 
would prove itself stronger than even death, 
‘‘Mamma is going away, going to leave you.” 

“Where are you going to. Mamma P’ 

“God wants me to come to Him, to 
heaven. ’ ’ 

“Oh, don’t go!” and Posey clung to her, 
frightened both by her look and tone. ‘ ‘ Don’t 
leave me, take me with you if you go.” 

“Mamma cannot, dear, though she would, 
oh, so gladly. But I want you to listen now, 
and though you are only a little girl, never, 
never forget what I am saying. Be good, 


20 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


wherever you are try to be good, always tell 
the truth, always be honest, and every night 
say the prayer I have taught you ; remember 
that mamma has gone to heaven and will wait 
for you; and above all remember, remember 
always, that God loves you and will take care 
of you. ’ ’ 

‘‘Do you know where my husband is?” she 
asked a little later of the neighboring woman 
who was caring for her. 

“No, but I can try and find him.” In her 
own mind she thought it would be no difficult 
task. 

“It’s no matter,” was the weary answer of 
the wife, who had sadly learned long before 
that her husband’s presence was slight cause 
for happiness. “Tell him good-by for me, 
and to send a letter he will find in my work- 
box to my mother; so she will know that I 
asked her forgiveness before I died. And I 
want her, as I know she will for my sake, to 
take my child.” 

Her voice that had been growing weaker 
and weaker failed as she whispered the last 
word. A slight coughing-fit followed, there 
were a few fluttering breaths, and the nurse 


HOW POSEY CAME ADRIFT' 


21 


who had been holding her hand laid it softly 
down. 

^ ^ Oh, what is the matter with my mamma 1 ’ ’ 
cried Posey in a frightened tone. ^‘What 
makes her look so white; and lie so still? 
Mamma, Mamma, speak to me, do ! ” 

But the ear that had always listened to her 
slightest call, would hear her no more. And 
the woman lifting kindly in her arms the now 
motherless child, terror-stricken and sobbing, 
though too young to understand the great 
loss and sorrow that had come to her, carried 
her gently from the room. 

When the absent husband at last came home 
and was told his wife’s last message he lis- 
tened to it moodily. ‘ ^ I don ’t know any great 
reason she had to ask her mother’s forgive- 
ness, just because she married me,” he said. 
‘‘I’m not the worst man in the world, by a 
long way, if her mother did make such a fuss 
about it. And as for letting her have Posey 
to bring up and set against me. I’ll do nothing 
of the kind. I can take care of my own child, 
and I shall do it. ’ ’ 

A natural and praiseworthy sentiment, this 
last, had he been a sober, industrious man, 


22 


NOBODY^S ROSE 


but unfortunately for himself and all con- 
nected with him he was neither. As a con- 
sequence, in the days that followed his little 
girl suffered much from neglect, and often 
from privation. Sometimes he feasted her on 
candy and sweetmeats till she was almost 
sick, and again, and more often, he left her 
to fare as best she might, and go hungry un- 
less some neighbor fed her, while many were 
the nights she lay awake trembling in the 
darkness in her little bed, afraid of the dark, 
and almost more afraid of hearing the un- 
steady steps that would announce a drunken 
father. 

But when her mother had been dead less 
than a year, there was a disturbance one even- 
ing in a near-by saloon. Revolvers were 
used, and one man, present but not involved 
in the quarrel, was fatally wounded. Posey 
never saw her father again. Taken to a hos- 
pital, public charity cared for him in his last 
hours and laid him in his grave. When they 
came to tell his child of his death they found 
her playing merrily with a doll she had made 
for herself of a rolled-up apron and a little 
shoulder-shawl. 


HOW POSEY CAME ADRIFT 23 

It was hardly to be expected that she would 
comprehend her loss. For that matter, she 
hardly knew that she had met with one, and 
Mrs. Malone, across the hall, was decidedly 
of the opinion that she had not. For her 
mother she had grieved long and passion- 
ately; that her father was gone made but 
slight impression. She had received from 
him so little of aifection that she did not miss 
its absence, and as to kindness and care, she 
had as much from the neighbors. 

For a time she was passed from one to an- 
other of these, sharing the proverbial charity 
of the poor, minding babies, running errands, 
and doing such little tasks as her years and 
strength permitted. There was a kind- 
hearted reluctance among these humble 
friends to handing her over to public charity. 
A remembrance of her mother’s wish for her 
still lingered, and Mrs. Malone even tried to 
find the letter she had spoken of, but no doubt 
her husband had destroyed it. There was oc- 
casional talk of an effort to find this grand- 
mother, but Posey knew nothing of her where- 
abouts, every one else was equally ignorant, 
and it never went beyond the talk. 


24 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


It was at tins time that Posey came under 
the notice of Madam Atheldena Sharpe, a 
lady who was making her wits provide her 
support, and who was quick to see how a 
pretty and easily taught child might be a help 
towards that end. To her taking possession 
of Posey there was no one to object. None 
of the few people she knew felt able to as- 
sume the burden of her support. To most of 
them the clairvoyant with her showy manners 
and fine-sounding phrases seemed a very im- 
posing person, and Posey was counted a for- 
tunate child to have found such a protector. 

So Posey entered on the second phase of 
her life, bearing with her pitifully few me- 
mentos of her vanished home — a china dog 
her father had bought her in an unwontedly 
generous mood, a book of children’s poems, 
out of which her mother had read to her and 
taught her to read, a locket that had belonged 
to her mother, and her pocket Bible. 

It was but a short time till new attractions 
were added to Madam’s” seances — mys- 
terious bells rang, an equally mysterious 
tambourine was tinkled ; and presently out of 
a cabinet, that now made part of the furnish- 


HOW POSEY CAME ADRIFT 


25 


ing of the room, appeared what was under- 
stood to be a spirit materialized, an ethereal- 
looking little figure in the dim light, with long 
golden hair and floating white draperies. 

As to the question of right or wrong in all 
this the child gave little thought. At first 
she had been too young and the various de- 
tails had been but so many tasks ; then as she 
grew older and began to realize the humbug 
behind that needed such constant and careful 
guarding from discovery, she was inclined 
to laugh at people for being so easily duped. 
But in the main it was to her simply a means 
of living, the way in which their bread and 
butter came. 

For the ignorance of most children as to 
the value of money, or its need in daily life 
had with Posey been early and sadly dis- 
pelled. Better than many an older person 
she understood not only its necessity but how 
to make the most of it. From behind some 
door or curtain she would watch the people 
as they came to consult the clairvoyant, or 
gathered for a seance, as eagerly as the 

Madam’’ herself; she knew exactly what 
each would add to the family purse, and so 


26 


NOBODY’S KOSE 


could tell pretty well in advance if the next 
day^s dinner would be scanty or plenty, and 
whether the medium would be pleasant or the 
contrary. For though not destitute of kindly 
impulses her mood was apt to vary in large 
measure with her success. 

In their changing life Posey was soon far 
from the city where she had lived, and finding 
her of even more value than she had expected 
Madam Sharpe gave to the child her own 
name, and took all possible pains to efface all 
remembrance of her earlier life, at the same 
time impressing on her the fact of her home- 
less and friendless condition, and that but 
for her kindness she would be a little beggar 
on the street; so that, as was her intention, 
Posey grew into the belief that Madam 
Atheldena Sharpe was all that stood between 
her and absolute distress, and with that pic- 
ture constantly before her she yielded the 
more readily to that lady’s frequent exactions 
and petulance. 

That she might become still more valuable, 
she was sent to school whenever their stay 
in a place permitted, though seldom was that 
long enough for the forming of friendships. 


HOW POSEY CAME ADRIFT 


27 


Indeed Madam Sharpe did not encourage 
such, for though singularly trusty, still she 
was always afraid that to other children 
Posey might he tempted to betray some jeal- 
ously guarded secrets. For this reason, for- 
tunately for her, Posey was never allowed 
the freedom of the streets, or the acquaint- 
ance of the children among whom she was 
thrown. 

As soon as she grew old enough the 
‘‘Madam’’ made her useful in domestic mat- 
ters. She was taught to sweep and dust the 
rooms, to go to market, to prepare their sim- 
ple meals, and to attend to most of the “light 
housekeeping” which best suited Madam 
Sharpe’s finances and business. In the even- 
ings if people enough came to form a “cir- 
cle” she had her part to take in the “mani- 
festations,” which was to her only another 
of her daily tasks, and when ended she was 
quickly and gladly in bed and asleep. 

So Posey’s life was by no means an idle 
one. She had enough to do to fill the most of 
her time, and for the rest, though often she 
was lonely and longed for companionship, 
still she had been accustomed from a little 


28 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


child to amusing herself and so had acquired 
numberless resources to that end. Perhaps 
the most important result of this way of life 
was the distinctness in which it kept her 
mother’s memory, which might have faded 
had existence for her been happier or less 
monotonous. Facts and events grew blurred 
and indistinct, but her mother remained as 
vivid as a living presence. 

No doubt with time imagination added its 
share till the remembrance grew into her ideal 
of all that was true and pure and lovely, as it 
was her greatest solace and comfort. Her 
words, except those last ones fixed by the 
solemnity of death, she did not so much re- 
member, but the tenor of her mother’s teach- 
ings, her influence, her personality, were in- 
delibly stamped on her mind. In every grief 
her first impulsive thought was, ^‘Oh, my 
mamma!” as though even that mute appeal 
was a consolation ; while the refiection, 
‘‘Would Mamma like to have me I” infiuenced 
her actions more than the actual presence of 
many a living mother. Never a night did she 
omit to kneel and repeat the prayer she had 
learned at her knee. Though she had long 


HOW POSEY CAME ADRIFT 


29 


known them all by heart, she never grew tired 
of the book of child’s poems ont of which her 
mother had read to her. Often of an even- 
ing sitting alone and lonely, ont of her vague 
and fragmentary memories she would try to 
recall the songs she had sung and the stories 
she had told her ; and many a night when the 
day had been hard in her small world did she 
cry herself to sleep with the yearning plaint 
on her lips, ‘ ‘ I do so want to see my mamma ! ’ ’ 
All this had the effect of keeping her 
strangely pure, and through the atmosphere 
of sordid deceit, if not worse, that surrounded 
her she walked as if guided and led by the 
mother-hand so long still and folded. 


CHAPTER II 


AN EXPOSUEE 

This phase of her life continued till Posey 
was nearly twelve. At first in the spirit-man- 
ifestations she had simply followed the clair- 
voyant's directions, but as she became older 
she not only learned to make herself up for 
the occasions, but to introduce little varia- 
tions of her own, which added not a little to 
the interest and popularity of the seances. 
Gradually, too, she came to take a certain 
personal pride in her role, of amusement at 
her own cleverness, and of elation at the sen- 
sation she created. As for the moral ques- 
tion, that held no place ; she was simply a lit- 
tle actress playing well her part, with an un- 
der thought of the profits. 

In the earlier days when the ‘‘Madam” had 
both to dress her, and teach her every detail, 
she had only been able to appear in one “man- 
ifestation,” but now she could manage sev- 
eral, and frequently appeared in succession 
30 


AN EXPOSURE 


31 


as an Indian princess, a French girl, and 
‘kittle Nellie of the Golden Hair.’’ For the 
French girl, “Madam” had her take French 
lessons so that her replies could be in that 
language, and on occasions when all the “in- 
fluences ’ ’ were favorable she would sing very 
softly and sadly a little French song, accom- 
panying herself on a “materialized” guitar. 

For a long time she never ventured outside 
the cabinet, but gaining boldness with prac- 
tice she at last came into the room, hovering 
near the circle gathered round the table, and 
answering any question put her by the clair-% 
voyant, who at such times was always in a 
trance. 

Madam Sharpe was greatly elated by all 
this, and to her fancy new, brilliant, and 
profitable successes seemed opening before 
her. Alas, in this very increase of popular- 
ity, and with it of public attention, lay her 
undoing, as it drew to her seances not only 
the easily credulous, and the sincere believ- 
ers, but the doubting skeptics whose purpose 
was investigation. 

So it came one evening that several young 
men of the latter class, including a newspaper 


32 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


reporter, were present, and after the lights 
had been turned low and dim, and the thrill 
of hushed expectancy had settled over the 
waiting circle, and out of the slowly opening 
door of the cabinet a white, shadowy little 
figure had lightly fioated, and as the ^‘spirit’’ 
passed near the newspaper reporter he 
adroitly threw a pinch of snutf in its face. 

A sneeze followed, a most decidedly human 
sneeze. Quick as thought he seized it in a 
strong grasp, while another of the ^investi- 
gators’’ as quickly turned the gas high and 
bright, and then and there was revealed to 
that astounded circle a plump, round-faced, 
very flesh-and-blood little girl, with the white 
powder partly rubbed oft her rosy face, her 
wig of long, floating, yellow, hair awry, and 
her white gauze dress crumpled and torn; 
frightened, angry, and stoutly struggling to 
escape. As soon as she saw that exposure 
had come Madam Sharpe hastily made her 
escape, and a moment later Posey managed 
to free herself from the hand of her captor 
and darted from the room. 

But evidence enough remained: the cabi- 
net, that through a sliding panel opened into 



Out of the door of the cabinet a white, shadowy little 
FIGURE HAD LIGHTLY FLOATED.— 32 . 






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AN EXPOSURE 


33 


an adjoining room, the gnitar, the wigs, the 
costumes of the different ‘^materializa- 
tions/^ 

A storm of indignation naturally followed 
these discoveries, a storm so loud as to arouse 
the attention of all in the vicinity, and to 
bring a policeman to the scene. An angry 
but fruitless search was made for the clair- 
voyant, who was near enough to hear the 
threats expressed as she cowered in her place 
of retreat. 

A much duller comprehension than hers 
would have realized that her career in that 
city was ended. Reporters, as she well 
knew, would catch it up, and the morning pa- 
pers spread the news of her exposure far and 
wide, even should she escape the arrest she 
had heard threatened on the ugly charge 
of obtaining money under false pretenses. 
While the crowd was still surging through 
her rooms, she had decided that the sooner 
she was away the better; and as soon as the 
neighborhood regaining quiet had sunk into 
slumber, she secured, as hastily and secretly 
as possible, the removal of her few personal 
effects, and, thanks to the express speed of 


34 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


the railroad, was many miles distant when 
morning dawned. 

Angry though she was at Posey, the inno- 
cent cause of the trouble, yet had the latter 
been at hand she would have taken her in 
her flight. But Posey up in the attic, to 
which she had fled and from which she had 
not dared to venture, had fallen asleep on a 
soft heap of rubbish, and Madam Atheldena 
Sharpe, now as ever thoroughly selfish, aban- 
doned with hardly a thought the child who 
had so long shared her fortunes. And when 
with the morning Posey, waking, crept cau- 
tiously down, her tumbled finery looking 
tawdry enough in the daylight, it was to find 
only empty, disordered rooms, from which 
the clairvoyant and all belonging to her had 
vanished. 

So for the second time, and with an in- 
creased keenness of apprehension of all it im- 
plied, Posey was again thrown on the world. 
And now, for the first time, in the person of 
the fat, good-natured policeman. Society, that 
great factor of civilization, became aware of 
her existence, took her under its charge, and 
in due time placed her in the ^‘Children’s 


AN EXPOSURE 


35 


Refuge/^ an institution where the city was 
already providing for some two or three hun- 
dred similar waifs and strays. 

This was a new, strange home indeed, and 
at the same time a statelier one than she had 
ever known — the tall brick building, with its 
great wings, one the boys’ and the other the 
girls’ department, stretching on either side. 
While accustomed as she had been all her life 
to a haphazard, makeshift existence, the ex- 
quisite neatness, the perfect order, and the 
regular system at first equally amazed and 
depressed. Posey had brought with her a 
somewhat varied store of accomplishments, 
but as she looked at the long rows of girls, 
with their neat uniforms of blue dresses and 
checked aprons, and noticed the clock-work 
regularity of their daily life she felt that she 
had much, very much, to learn. 

The Refuge was not an institution where 
appalling cruelties are hidden under the sur- 
face of smoothness. The children were as 
well clothed, well fed, well taught, and well 
cared for as is possible where such gathered 
numbers make separate mothering almost 
impossible. As a necessity, system, regular- 


36 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


ity, was the rule ; from the rising in the morn- 
ing till the retiring at night the ringing of 
the great bell ordered all ; eating, play, work, 
study, was at its monition. And if any tried 
rebellion, as Posey at the first sometimes 
felt inclined to do, it was speedily to find that 
they but bruised themselves against the 
strong force which controlled the whole. 

Into this routine Posey soon settled; she 
had her little white bed in one of the rows of 
the long dormitory, her desk in the school- 
room, her place in the work-room, where at 
certain hours in the day the girls worked at 
making paper boxes ; and her group of friends 
in the playground. After the lonely isolation 
of most of her previous life it was a great 
change, this becoming one in such a multi- 
tude. But hardest of all for her was it to 
become used to the pressure of discipline, not 
severe but constant, the feeling that she was 
never free from the watchful, overlooking eye. 

In almost every respect she was much bet- 
ter off here than when in the hands of Madam 
Sharpe, but though never alone, as in the old 
days, she was often as lonely as when she sat 
secluded in the kitchen-bedroom of the clair- 


AN EXPOSURE 


37 


voyant, lonely for the love, the tenderness, 
that her child heart had longed for so long 
and so vainly. 

After all that Posey had had to do when 
with the ‘ ^ Madam it was not hard for her 
to learn to make paper boxes quickly and well. 
In the schoolroom, too, she was soon able to 
take a place near the head of her class, some- 
thing that gave her not a little pride. Re- 
wards were not offered to the scholars, but 
one day a reward came to her that she never 
forgot, and that had not a little influence in 
shaping her future. It was at the close of a 
session when she had acquitted herself with 
even more than her usual credit, and Miss 
Grey, the teacher, in passing her desk as she 
was putting her books in order, stopped with 
a pleasant smile and said, ‘‘Posey, I am very 
glad to see you so ambitious in your studies ; 
if you will study and try I think you can one 
day make a teacher. ^ ^ 

It was to Posey a new idea, and the stirring 
of her first real ambition. Was it possible 
that she could become a teacher like Miss 
Grey, and have pupils who should in like 
manner admire her, and, best of all, make a 


38 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


place and earn a living for herself? Her 
heart thrilled, first with the idea, and again 
with the determination that it should be pos- 
sible. And Miss Grey, busy with her many 
pupils and manifold duties, went her way un- 
conscious of the ray of promise she had given, 
a ray that should shine as a day-star of hope 
through many a long day. For that matter, 
she had no idea of the feeling she had inspired 
in Posey’s heart, how she watched, admired, 
and imitated her, absorbed her ideas, was in- 
fluenced by her opinions, and when she finally 
left, for a home of her own, missed her. 

With all the teachers and matrons Posey 
was in the main a favorite. But for the 
study of individual character there was scant 
time ; when she was good, little attention was 
paid to her, when she was naughty she re- 
ceived the punishment she had incurred. For 
while Posey possessed a certain intrepid 
strength of purpose that carried her over 
many a hard place, as well as in her work 
and lessons, these were coupled with an im- 
pulsiveness of action and warmth of temper 
that often brought her into temporary dis- 
grace. 


AN EXPOSURE 


39 


Still, on the whole, the year and a half she 
passed at the Refnge was as happy as any 
she had spent since her mother’s death. But 
one day a summons came for her to the Su- 
perintendent’s office, where sat a stout lady, 
with a face of hard, mottled red flesh, one 
whom she had noticed a little while before 
making the rounds of the rooms. 

‘‘Yes,” she said, regarding Posey with a 
fixed gaze of her beady black eyes, “I think 
I will try this one. I’ll take her home with 
me and keep her for a while, anyway. No, 
I don’t care to ask her any questions. I 
wouldn’t know much more if I did, and I can 
find out enough in short order. So hurry 
and get yourself ready,” to Posey, “for I’ve 
no time to lose. ’ ’ And when Posey heard this 
she hardly knew whether she ought to he glad 
or sorry. 

The Refuge did not let its charges go out 
without providing as far as possible for their 
welfare and future. As Mrs. Hagood had 
furnished ample references as to her capa- 
bility for such a charge; and as she further 
promised to give Posey good care, moral in- 
struction, and the advantage of the school in 


40 


NOBODY’S EOSE 


her village, the Eefuge authorities felt that 
in this case they had amply done their duty. 
So in a very short time Posey’s few belong- 
ings were packed, the parting words said, and 
in company with Mrs. Hagood she had passed 
and left behind the tall wrought-iron gates of 
the Eefuge. 

To live in the country had always been to 
Posey a dream of delight, though her knowl- 
edge of the country was limited to fleeting 
views from car windows. She had, too, a 
faint memory of stories her mother had once 
told her of the happiness of a childhood spent 
among orchards and meadows ; and with all 
these in mind she had often looked at the 
dusty trees bordering the stone-paved streets, 
and the swift-flowing streams that filled the 
gutters after a rain, trying to cheat imagina- 
tion into the belief that they were real brooks 
and genuine woods. 

So now when Mrs. Hagood told her that 
her new home was to be in a little country 
village her heart beat high with anticipation, 
and she decided that she was glad she was 
going. On their way to the train in the street 
cars they skirted the Haymarket, and Posey 


AN EXPOSURE 


41 


looked out with mingled feelings at the tall 
brick building, the scene of her memorable 
misadventure. Not that she had any desire 
to return to Madam Sharpe. With a child’s 
quick intuition for shams, the clairvoyant’s 
manifold deceptions had inspired her with 
anything hut a profound respect, nor had she 
by any means forgotten the cruelty of her de- 
sertion. Besides, was she not now going into 
the beautiful country, to be as free as a bird 
among the birds and flowers^ 


CHAPTEE III 

THE NEW HOME 


Befobe Posey hardly had time to realize 
the change, the city with its crowded houses 
and busy streets, its smoke and confusion, its 
glitter of wealth, its grime of poverty, was 
left behind, and she was seated by the side 
of Mrs. Hagood in the cars on her way to her 
new home, something over an hour’s ride 
distant. 

Though yet early in March it was a sunny, 
spring-like day. Under the bland air the 
snow had almost disappeared from the brown 
fields, and only lingered in occasional patches 
of white in hollows and along sheltering 
fences. The willows by hrookside ways were 
showing their early catkins, while the woods, 
distinct against the tender blue of the spring 
sky, by their reddening tinge told that life 
was already stirring in the leaf -buds, so soon 
to unfold. 

In some of the woods that the train sped 
42 


THE NEW HOME 


43 


through, Posey caught glimpses of smoke 
curling up from small, weather-worn build- 
ings, while from the trees around them hung 
buckets, some painted a bright red, others of 
shining tin ; she could even now and then hear 
from the open car window a musical drip, 
drip, which the more increased her wonder. 

‘‘What are all those pails hanging to the 
trees forT’ she finally asked. “And what is 
the sound just as though water was drop- 
ping!’^ 

“Goodness alive, didn’t you ever see a su- 
gar bush opened before!” inquired Mrs. Ha- 
good. “That’s where they are making ma- 
ple sugar and syrup; those are maple trees, 
and what you hear is the sap running; it’s 
been a good sap day, too.” 

This explanation did not make the matter 
very clear to Posey, but what Mrs. Hagood 
meant was that the warmth of the spring day 
had caused a rapid upward flow of the sap, 
or juice of the tree, which had been stored in 
the roots through the winter ; and by making 
incisions in the tree this sap, which is sweet- 
est in the maple, is caught and boiled into 
syrup or sugar. 


44 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


For all the outward attractions, Posey had 
already given some very earnest and anxious 
looks at Mrs. Hagood, with whom her home 
was now to be for an indefinite time. Child 
as she was, she quickly felt that there was 
nothing of the fiimsy, the pretentious, about 
that lady. The substantial was stamped on 
every feature, and though her shawl was 
handsomer and her black silk dress of finer 
quality than she had ever seen Miss Grey 
wear, she was conscious that Mrs. Hagood 
lacked something the little teacher possessed 
— the essential quality that made the latter 
the true lady. 

But the time had been short, or so it 
seemed, for the much there was to think and 
see, when Mrs. Hagood gathered up her nu- 
merous packages, and Posey found herself 
hurried out on the platform of a wayside sta- 
tion. Truly she was in the country. A few 
scattered farmhouses were in sight in the dis- 
tance, but the little station stood between the 
far-reaching railroad tracks and the muddy 
country road wholly apart and alone. No 
one but themselves had alighted, and they 
were the sole occupants of the building, not 


THE NEW HOME 


45 


even a station-master appearing in sight. 
‘^Is this a village!’’ Posey asked as she 
looked around in wide-eyed surprise. 

‘‘Mercy, no, child, the village is two miles 
from here.” 

“And what a queer depot,” added Posey. 
“I never was in one before where there 
weren’t lots of people.” 

“People in the country have to stay at 
home and work,” was the short reply. Posey 
had already noticed that Mrs. Hagood had a 
way of clipping her words off short as though 
she had no time to waste on them. 

“When they do go,” she added, “they 
mostly take the morning train, as I did, and 
come back later. This train never stops here 
unless it has passengers to let off, or some 
one flags it to get on.” 

As she talked they had walked around the 
narrow platform to the opposite side of the 
station, and Mrs. Hagood, shading her eyes 
with her hand, for the afternoon sun was now 
low and level, looked down the road with the 
remark, “I should like to know where Elna- 
than Hagood is. I told him to be here in 
time to meet this train.” 


46 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


Naturally Posey felt a degree of curiosity 
as to the family she was about to enter, and 
with Mrs. Hagood^s words came the reflec- 
tion, ‘ ^ So, then, she has a hoy. I hope I shall 
like him.’’ 

A few moments later an open buggy drawn 
by a stout, sleek bay horse came in sight over 
the nearest hill, whose occupant Posey saw 
as it drew near was a small, middle-aged man, 
with a pleasant face, mild blue eyes, and a 
fringe of thin brown beard, touched with grey, 
under his chin. 

‘‘I thought, Elnathan,” was Mrs. Ha- 
good’s greeting as he drew up to the plat- 
form, ‘Hhat I told you to be here by train- 
time. ’ ’ 

As Elnathan Hagood climbed slowly out 
over the muddy wheel, there was apparent a 
slight stoop to his shoulders, and droop to his 
hat-brim, and a certain subtle but none the 
less palpable air of one who had long been 
subjected to a slightly repressive, not to say 
depressing influence. ‘‘Wal, now, Almiry,” 
he remarked with the manner of a man to 
whom the apologetic had become habitual, 
did lay out to be here on time, but the roads 


THE NEW HOME 


47 


hev thawed so since morning that it took me 
longer than I^d calcTated on.’^ 

His wife gave a sniif of contempt. only 
hope I sha’n^t catch my death- o^ cold waitin’ 
here in this raw wind, clear tired out as I be, 
too. But now you are here at last, see if you 
can put these things in, and not be all the af- 
ternoon about it, either.” 

see you did get a little girl,” with a nod 
and kindly smile at Posey, who stood a little 
apart. 

‘‘Yes,” rejoined Mrs. Hagood tartly, “I 
said I was goin’ to, and when I plan to do 
a thing I carry it out as I planned it, and 
when I planned it. 

“I know,” she continued, regarding Posey 
as though she had been a wooden image, or 
something equally destitute of hearing, to say 
nothing of feeling, “that it’s a big risk to 
take one of those street children; you never 
know what tricks they have, or what they 
may turn out to be. This one isn’t very big, 
hut she looks healthy, an’ I see she was spry, 
an’ I guess I’ll be able to make her earn as 
much as her salt, anyway. ’ ’ 

Posey’s cheeks flamed hotly, and she was 


48 


NOBODY’S BOSE 


on the point of an indignant protest that she 
had never been a street childdn her life, when 
she caught a slight shake of the head from 
Mr. Hagood. Then Mrs. Hagood turned 
away to direct her husband as he folded a 
horse-blanket to form a seat for Posey, at the 
same time enveloping herself in a large, black, 
shiny waterproof cloak, to protect her from 
the mud, and tying a thick brown veil over 
her bonnet to serve the same purpose. 

When all was ready, Mr. Hagood lifted 
Posey into the buggy, with another friendly 
smile that went warm to her heart, and as 
soon as the various packages with which she 
had returned laden, were settled to Mrs. Ha- 
good’s satisfaction they were on their way. 
But they had not driven far when leaning 
across Posey, who was seated between them, 
Mrs. Hagood snatched the reins from her hus- 
band’s hands, exclaiming, ^‘Elnathan Ha- 
good, give me those lines, an’ see if 1 can’t 
drive without gettin’ into every mudhole we 
come to.” 

Mr. Hagood yielded without a word. The 
first thought of their wide-eyed young com- 
panion was of wonder that he should do so. 


THE NEW HOME 


49 


In her heart she felt that if she were a man 
she wonld not, hut as she furtively glanced 
from him to his wife, it was with the instinc- 
tive feeling that protest or opposition on his 
part’ would be useless. 

On account of the muddy clay road their 
progress was hut slow, but accustomed only 
to city sights, and for so long to the seclu- 
sion of the Eefuge, Posey enjoyed every step 
of the way. The pleasant farmhouses they 
passed, set in their wide, deep yards; the 
barns with cattle standing around, chewing 
placid cuds and looking at them with large 
soft eyes; the full and rushing brooks that 
came darting out of the fields with a swirl to 
rush across the road into the fields again ; the 
hits of woods, shadowy and quiet; the soft 
brown of the rolling fields ; the fresh spring 
air, the wide outlook, the very novelty and 
strangeness of it all. And to her it seemed 
quite too soon that climbing the long hill they 
entered the village of Horsham, whose white 
church spire had for some time been looking 
down on them. 

Horsham, like most country villages, con- 
sisted of a central cluster of stores and shops. 


50 


NOBODY’S BOSE 


from which radiated a scattering company 
of comfortable homes, and all surrounded and 
over-arched with imbosoming trees. Pres- 
ently the sleek bay horse turned into the yard 
of one of the most cosy of these, trim with 
white paint and green blinds. At the first 
glance Posey saw that everything about the 
place was faultlessly neat and tidy; and also 
that on the opposite side of the drive, near the 
street but in the same yard, was another 
and smaller building bearing above its door 
a sign, 

ELNATHAN HAGOOD. WAGONS EEPAIKED. 

She had little time to look around, how- 
ever, for Mrs. Hagood, unlocking a side door, 
led the way into a large, comfortable kitchen. 
Hastily divesting herself of her outer wraps, 
she opened the door to a bedroom off from it, 
which was only long enough for the bed, and 
wide enough to admit at the side of the bed a 
washstand and a chair. 

^‘Here, Posey,’’ she said, “is your room. 
You will find it clean and tidy, and I shall ex- 
pect you to keep it so. Now take off your 
things and hang them on those nails behind 


THE NEW HOME 


51 


the door, and put on one of your gingham 
aprons, that you wore at the Eefuge, to keep 
your dress clean. Then take that pail on the 
corner table to the spring at the end of the 
yard and fill it with water. Mind that you 
donT slop it over you, or spill any on the 
floor as you bring it in, either. Then fill the 
teakettle and put it on to boil, and go out in 
the woodhouse and get seven potatoes out 
of the basketful on a bench by the door. 
Wash them in the tin basin that hangs up over 
the sink and put them in the oven to bake.’’ 
Here Mrs. Hagood added some more wood 
to that which had burned low in the stove, 
opened the draughts and set it to burning 
briskly. ^‘By the time you have done that 
I will have my dress changed and be back to 
show you where to get the things to set the 
table.” 

Posey had proceeded as far as the filling 
of the teakettle when Mr. Hagood entered 
and after a glance around the room as if to 
assure himself that they were alone drew 
from his pocket a handful of apples. 
‘‘They’re russets,” he said in a cautious 
voice, holding them out to her. “They’ve 


52 


NOBODY ROSE 


just got meller an’ I thought mebby you’d 
like to keep ’em in your room an’ eat one 
when you felt like it. ’ ’ And Posey gratefully 
accepted the good-will offering, and the sug- 
gestive hint implied with it. 

After supper she washed up the dishes un- 
der Mrs. Hagood’s supervision, and when 
that was done and the lamp lighted gladly sat 
down, for she was decidedly tired after the 
unwonted events and excitement of the day. 
Unless company came, the kitchen was also 
the living-room, for Mrs. Hagood said it was 
good enough for them, and saved the dirt and 
wear of carpets in the front rooms. So Mr. 
Hagood drew up to the table with his specta- 
cles and weekly paper and was soon absorbed 
in the latter, while Mrs. Hagood brought out 
a blue and white sock, partly finished, which 
she attacked vigorously. 

Noticing with a glance of disapproval 
Posey’s folded hands she asked, “What did 
you do evenings at the Refuge?” 

“We studied part of the evening, and then 
we read, or one of the teachers read to us, 
and sometimes we sang, or played quiet 
games.” 


THE NEW HOME 


53 


‘‘Well/’ with emphasis, “I think they had 
better been teaching poor children who will 
always have to work for their living, some- 
thing of some nse. Do you know how to 
knitr’ 

“No, ma’am.” 

“Then I will set up a stocking of cotton 
yarn for you to-morrow and show you how. 
When I was your age I knit all my own stock- 
ings, and always had knitting to catch up 
when I’d nothing else to do. Girls then 
didn’t sit with their hands idle much, I can 
tell you,” and her knitting needles clicked 
loud and fast. 

Thus was Posey introduced to her new 
home. And that night as she sat in her tiny 
room, in a frame of mind it must be confessed 
somewhat depressed by the formidable per- 
sonality of Mrs. Hagood, she ate one of the 
russet apples, which she had hidden in a 
drawer in the stand, and felt cheered and 
comforted by the spirit of kindly sympathy 
it represented, together with its mute assur- 
ance that in the household she would find at 
least one friend. 


CHAPTEE IV 


THE NEW LIFE 

The next morning Posey was awakened by 
the voice of Mrs. Hagood at her door, ‘ ‘ Come, 
Posey; time to get up, and be spry about it, 
too.’^ 

The clock was just striking six as she came 
out of her room, but the kitchen was already 
warm and Mrs:. Hagood in a loose calico wrap- 
per was busy about the breakfast. 

donT want you to dawdle in bed,’’ was 
her salutation. ‘H’m stirring myself morn- 
ings and I want folks about me to stir, too. 
Hurry and wash you, then take this dish and 
go down cellar for some cucumber pickles. 
They are in that row on the left hand side, 
the third jar. Now mind and remember, for 
I don’t want to keep telling things over to 
you.” 

As she returned with the pickles Mr. Ha- 
good came in with a pail of foaming milk, and 
Posey, who in her household experience had 
54 


THE NEW LIFE 


55 


been accustomed to see milk measured by the 
pint, or more often the half-pint, gave a little 
cry of wonder and delight. 

“I want ter knowT’ and Mr. Hagood’s 
thin, kindly face wrinkled from mouth to 
eyes in a smile. Never saw so much milk 
as this at once before. Why I get this pail 
full every night and morning, and I calculate 
BrindleTl do still better when she gets out to 
grass.’’ As he spoke he had strained out a 
cupful of the fresh, warm milk and handed it 
to Posey, saying, ‘‘Drink that now, an’ see if 
it don’t taste good.” 

“What are you doing, Elnathan?” de- 
manded Mrs. Hagood, who was skillfully 
turning some eggs she was frying. 

“Wal, now, Almiry, I’m just givin’ the 
child what she never had before in her life, 
a drink o’ fresh, warm milk. I thought, Al- 
miry,” with an accent of mild reproof, “you’d 
like her to have what milk she wanted to 
drink.” 

“You know as well as anybody,” was her 
tart retort, “that I never scrimped anybody 
or anything around me yet of victuals ; Posey 
can have all the milk she wants to drink with 


56 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


her breakfast, but there no use for her to 
be stoppin’ her work and spendin’ time to 
drink it now, or you to be lettin’ the cream 
rise on the milk before it’s strained, to watch 
her.” 

Breakfast out of the way Mrs. Hagood said, 
‘‘Now, Posey, you may go out and feed the 
chickens. You will find a bag of shelled corn 
on the granary floor; give them the basin that 
stands on a barrel beside it twice full. ’ ’ 

It was a command that Posey gladly 
obeyed, but she wondered that the flock of 
eager fluttering chickens, who crowded 
around her, and flew up into the granary 
door, seemed so indifferent to the breakfast 
she scattered for them. “Go and eat,” she 
vainly urged, “ go ! ” 

Posey had on occasion seen city hens, poor, 
dirty, bedraggled fowls, but these were so 
different, plump and snowy, bright of eye, 
and sleek of plumage, that it was a pleasure 
to linger among them. But Mrs. Hagood ’s 
voice soon sounded from the door, “Posey, 
is it going to take you all the forenoon to feed 
those hensT’ 

A little later as Posey was washing thQ 


THE NEW LIFE 


57 


breakfast dishes, taking great pains to follow 
all of Mrs. Hagood^s many directions, for she 
truly wished to please, she heard that lady 
calling her, and dropping the wiping-towel 
ran out into the yard to see what was 
wanted. 

‘^How came all those beans here on the 
ground?’’ Mrs. Hagood demanded sharply, 
pointing as she spoke to the white kernels 
scattered around. 

‘‘Why,” replied Posey in surprise, “that 
is what I fed the chickens as you told me.” 

“ ‘As I told you!’ A likely story that I 
would tell you to feed the hens beans. Don’t 
you know enough to know beans from corn?” 

“No, I don’t,” retorted Posey hotly. 
“And why should I? I never was in the 
country before in my life, and I don’t know 
anything about com, except green corn, or 
beans, either.” 

“Shut right up,” exclaimed Mrs. Hagood 
sternly. “I won’t put up with any impu- 
dence, and I want you to make up your mind 
to that. Now look here,” holding up a 
handful of yellow kernels, *Hhis is com; re- 
member it^ and if you make such a blunder 


58 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


again 1^11 help you to remember with a 
whip. ’ ’ 

Posey turned slowly and with a swelling 
heart re-entered the house. She had meant 
no harm, the two bags had sat side by side, 
the mistake had been wholly accidental, and 
under other circumstances she would have 
been sorry enough, but now with the sense of 
injustice burning at her heart she said to her- 
self, Cross old thing, I don’t care if I did 
spill her old beans, not one bit. ’ ’ 

So Posey’s life with Mrs. Hagood began, 
and had the latter been an agreeable person 
to live with it might have been a pleasant 
life; she was comfortably clothed, she had an 
abundance of wholesome food, and the work 
expected of her was in no way beyond her 
strength. But Mrs. Hagood always so man- 
aged that when one task was ended another 
was ready to take its place. With her it was 
one continuous grind from morning till night ; 
that the child required a share of pleasure 
and recreation was an idea she would have 
scouted. She worked all the time, she would 
have said, why was it any worse for Posey? 
Besides, this was a poor child who would ah 


THE NEW LIFE 


59 


ways have to earn her living and the sooner 
she realized it the better. 

So the stocking was set up, and Posey in- 
ducted into the mysteries of knitting. For 
other spare moments there were towels to hem 
and sheets to turn, and when everything else 
failed to fill all the available time there was 
always on hand a huge basket of carpet rags 
to be cut, sewed, and wound. 

With it all she was one of those women 
who never dream of bestowing praise : if the 
work were ever so well done, and Posey was 
at times fired with the ambition to see how 
well she could do, never a word of commenda- 
tion followed; if on the contrary, there was 
any failure, and Mrs. Hagood’s eyes were al- 
ways alert for faults, there was always the 
word of sharp reproof. Then Posey would 
solace herself with the reflection that she 
couldn’t suit her if she tried, and she wasn’t 
going to try any more, and she hoped she 
wouldn’t be suited, ^^so there!” 

Often and often as Posey sat in the open 
doorway in the long summer afternoons, the 
distant woods beyond the village beckoning 
with their green shade and the basket of end- 


60 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


less carpet rags at her side, did she wish her- 
self back within the pent-np walls of the 
Refuge; for there when her appointed task 
was done she could enjoy some free time, 
while here was no escape from the atmos- 
phere of repression, fault-finding, and petty 
irritation, to say nothing of the absence of all 
love and sympathy, or even interest. 

Mrs. Hagood would have said that all she 
was doing was for Posey’s interest, hut it is 
exceedingly doubtful if Almira Hagood ever 
viewed anything or any one in a light sep- 
arate from her own interest. With a sub- 
lime self-confidence in her own ideas and 
opinions, she would unhesitatingly have 
crushed a stronger opposition to her will; 
how much the more anything so insignificant 
as the wishes and feelings of a little charity 
girl! One, too, whom she had taken solely 
that she might have her work, and whose 
highest good therefore was to be useful, as 
her highest aim and desire ought to he to do 
the work she assigned her quickly and well ; 
while, unfortunately for both, Posey’s mind 
was often filled with a host of other and 
widely differing wishes and desires. 


THE NEW LIFE 


61 


Had kindly Mr. Hagood been an active fac- 
tor in the domestic economy, her life would 
have been very different; but he was only a 
passive factor, so passive, in fact, as to be 
seldom considered, and least of all by his 
wife. From the first Posey had regarded 
Mr. Hagood in the light of a fellow sufferer, 
with the present advantage of his little shop 
to escape to, where with his work as a plea 
he managed to spend not only most of his 
days but many of his evenings, and where he 
could enjoy the pleasure of his pipe and 
dog, both forbidden the house, and a fre- 
quent chance visitor. For Mrs. Hagood so 
frowned upon his making one of the nightly 
group at the village store and postoffice that, 
social as he was by nature, he seldom ven- 
tured on the enjoyment. 

Still if this was his present advantage, he 
would always, so Posey reflected, have to live 
with Mrs. Hagood, while some glad day she 
would be old enough to leave, and then never 
need see her again unless she chose, which 
she didn’t much think would ever happen. 

An amiable, easy-going man, Elnathan Ha- 
good, it was said, at the time of his marriage 


62 


NOBODY’S EOSE 


had inclined to ways slightly convivial. But 
his wife speedily changed all that, and by the 
sheer force of her superior will had set and 
kept his feet in a straight path. By nature 
‘ ^ handy with tools the shop had been her 
idea, where she started him as surgeon to the 
various disabled vehicles of Horsham; while 
she, in the meantime, having taken charge of 
his modest patrimony, proceeded to put it out 
to usury, in a literal as well as figurative 
sense. 

In all the country round no one knew how 
to drive a sharp bargain, and for that matter 
a hard one, better than Almira Hagood ; and 
woe to the luckless debtor who expected 
mercy at her hands. With these qualities 
but few really liked Mrs. Hagood; she was 
too dominant, positive, selfish, and avaricious 
to win many friends, or to care much for 
friendship. At the same time, and for all 
that her methods were now and then a 
shade questionable, there were many who ad- 
mired her thrift, energy, business shrewd- 
ness, and practical ability, and took a certain 
pride in her success as in some sort reflect- 
ing credit on her home village. 


THE NEW LIFE 


63 


It is almost needless to say that in the 
twenty years or more she had managed the 
property it had greatly increased in value, 
and at this time included outlying farms, vil- 
lage property, bank stock, mortgages, and 
sundry other investments. In regard to this 
she never thought of consulting her husband, 
and if he ever ventured on a suggestion as a 
rule passed it over without the slightest re- 
gard. The word ^ ^ we ’ ’ was one seldom heard 
from her lips. It was always ‘‘my horse, 
“my cow”; she referred to the time when “I 
built my barn, ” or “ when I bought my farm, ’ ’ 
with a complete ignoring of any partner in 
the firm matrimonial. Indeed, whatever the 
light in which she regarded Elnathan Hagood 
personally, for his ability and opinions she 
did not disguise her contempt, and any at- 
tempt to assert himself was quickly and vig- 
orously suppressed ; and the common opinion 
as to his condition was voiced by an old com- 
panion, “I tell you, she keeps his nose clus to 
the grindstun.” 

It was then not strange that for the most 
part he went about with the subdued and 
apologetic air of one aware of his own in- 


64 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


significance. Sometimes, for his kindly na- 
ture held an especially tender place for chil- 
dren, he attempted to expostulate in Posey’s 
behalf; hut his mild, ‘‘Now, Almiry, I 
wouldn’t,” or “Almiry, you know children 
will be children, ’ ’ made matters no better for 
Posey, and only brought a storm about his 
own head. 

Weakness held no part in Mrs. Hagood; 
“capable” was the term that truly fitted her; 
at the same time there was no more tender- 
ness in her nature than in her well-polished 
cook-stove. A timid, sensitive child would 
have wilted, pined, and perhaps have died 
in her atmosphere ; but Posey was not more 
sensitive than the average healthy, hungry 
child, and was even more than usually high- 
spirited and fearless. Her affections — ^mea- 
gerly as they had been fed — ^were warm, 
her impulses generous, and her nature one to 
whom love and kindness might have proved 
controlling forces where threats and violence 
failed. Such being the case, her life with 
Mrs. Hagood could hardly fail to intensify all 
her faults of temperament ; the more so as the 
almost daily outraging of her sense of jus- 


THE NEW LIFE 


65 


tice led to a feeling of resentment that from 
its frequency became well-nigh constant. 

There were also occasions when this rose 
to an especial high-water mark. One such 
was the event of a Sunday School picnic to a 
little lake distant some half-hour’s ride on 
the cars. An event that all the younger 
members of the school had looked forward to 
with eager anticipations, and Posey perhaps 
most of all, for a picnic was something she 
had never known. But when the time came 
Mrs. Hagood flatly refused her permission to 
attend. 

not going to throw away forty cents 
to go, and if I wouldn’t for myself I don’t 
know why I should for you,” she had said. 
‘^Crystal Lake! I want to know! Nobody 
ever thought of calling it anything but Wil- 
son’s Pond when I was a girl, or of its being 
any great sight. But now it’s Crystal Lake 
folks must all run to see it, and I don’t sup- 
pose it’s anything more than it was before.” 

^^Almiry,” ventured Mr. Hagood in his 
most persuasive tone, with a glance at 
Posey’s drooping head, ^^ef you’ll let her go 
I’ll pay the fare.” 


66 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


‘^Really, Elnathan Hagood,’’ turning on 
him with withering sarcasm, seems to me 
you have grown suddenly rich. If you have 
more money than you know what to do with 
you may go over to the store and get me ten 
pounds of sugar, and a couple of pounds of 
raisins. I want them right away. As for 
Posey, I Ve said once she couldn’t go and that 
settles it. I don’t believe in picnics, any- 
way; they’re just an excuse for people to 
spend time and money; Posey hasn’t been 
good for anything since they began to talk 
of this one, and if she was to go she’d wear 
out her shoes, and tear her dress, and come 
home so used up she wouldn’t be good for 
anything for a week to come. It’s all non- 
sense, and she’s enough sight better off right 
here. ’ ’ 

So with a swelling heart Posey saw the 
others gathering for the start. ‘‘Why, 
Posey, aren’t you ready P’ called one of her 
classmates over the fence as she was sweep- 
ing off the walk. 

“No, I can’t go,” she answered with the 
curtness of despair. 

“Won’t Mrs. Hagood let you?” 


THE NEW LIFE 


67 


Posey shook her head; it was an occasion 
where words were insignificant. 

^‘Well, I just think she’s a horrid, mean 
old thing,” cried the indignant and friendly 
sympathizer. 

Who’s that is a ‘mean old thing’?” de- 
manded Mrs. Hagood, who at that moment 
suddenly appeared around the corner of the 
house. 

“No-nohody,” stammered the little girl, all 
the more frightened because of her guilty 
consciousness. 

“Oh,” blandly remarked that lady, “it was 
my mistake then ; I thought I heard you say- 
ing that somebody was,” and with a grim 
smile she turned away, adding as she did so, 
“Posey, you have swept that walk long 
enough, come in now and wash the dishes.” 

It is to be feared that Mrs. Hagood found 
Posey anything but efficient help that day, 
for the bitter rebellion in her heart found out- 
ward expression in careless, sullen indiffer- 
ence. She slopped water on the floor, jammed 
the wood into the stove, and slammed the 
dishes with a violence that threatened their 
destruction. And when Mrs. Hagood sharply 


68 


NOBODY’S EOSE 


demanded what she was thinking of, she mut- 
tered a reply in a tone that brought her a 
shake, with the admonition to be careful, if 
she knew what was good for herself. 

After the morning’s work was finished 
Posey was sent out to pick currants for jelly ; 
and a little later Mr. Hagood might have 
been seen slipping, with all the caution of 
a criminal, along behind the screening grape- 
vine trellis towards the end of the garden 
where were the currant bushes, and half hid- 
den among them Posey shedding hot and bit- 
ter tears over her task. 

<<I>m real sorry you couldn’t go, Posey,” 
he said in a voice lowered as if fearful it 
might reach the keen ears of his wife, ^‘for 
I know how you’d been a-lottin’ on it; but 
Mrs. Hagood knows what’s best fer you.” 

Loyalty was a strong element in Elnathan 
Hagood ’s nature. Whatever his private 
thought might be, not a complaining word 
of her had he ever been heard to utter. And 
child though she was, Posey instinctively rec- 
ognized and respected this feeling, but now 
carried away by her disappointment and grief 
she exclaimed passionately, don’t know 


THE NEW LIFE 


69 


whether she does or not ! At any rate I don ^t 
believe she ever was a little girl in her life. ’ ’ 

‘‘Well, yon know the real trouble is,’’ ex- 
plained Mr. Hagood, “that she never had any 
little girl of her own.” For it was one of 
his favorite theories that a child, especially 
a little daughter, would have softened all 
the asperity of that somewhat flinty nature, 
rendering it at once sweet and tender. 

“Besides,” he continued, “a picnic isn’t 
anything really so wonderful. I wouldn’t 
give a single cent to go to one myself ; though 
to be sure I’m gettin’ oldish and a hit stiff 
for swingin’, and rowin’ on the lake, and 
racin’ through the woods, an’ all that sort 
of thing I used to enjoy so when I was your 
age. ’ ’ 

He checked himself with the sudden real- 
ization that this was hardly the way to im- 
press upon her what undesirable affairs pic- 
nics were, and busied himself in extracting 
a paper parcel from his coat pocket. “Now 
don’t cry any more,” he urged; “see here, 
I’ve brought you some nuts and candy.” 

“Oh, Mr. Hagood,” cried Posey impulsively 
jumping up and throwing her arms around 


70 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


his neck, to his great astonishment, and 
hardly less confusion, ^‘you are the very best 
man in all the world!’’ 

‘^Well, now. Honey,” his wrinkled face 
flushing with pleasure at the caress, to him 
something so unwonted and unexpected, and 
giving her hand an awkward stroke by way 
of return, ‘‘you be a good girl and mebby you 
and I will go somewhere and have a picnic 
by ourselves some day. I’ll see if I can’t 
fix it.” 

Then Mr. Hagood, in the same stealthy 
manner with which he had come, returned to 
his shop. And Posey behind the currant 
bushes forgot to breathe out threatenings 
and slaughter against Mrs. Hagood, as she 
munched her candy, so much the sweeter for 
the sympathy that had accompanied it, and 
found herself more cheered than an hour be- 
fore she would have believed it possible she 
ever could be again. 


CHAPTER V 


THE PICNIC 

‘‘Elnathan, I’m out of flour; you must go 
to mill to-day,” said Mrs. Hagood one morn- 
ing a little later. 

Mr. Hagood had been anticipating this di- 
rection, but he answered with a guileless air, 
‘‘Must you have it to-day? Joe Hatch is a 
hurryin’ about his wagon.” 

“Yes, I can’t bake again till I have some 
more flour; and I guess Joe Hatch can wait.” 

“You couldn’t go?” 

“Me? The idea; no, my time’s worth too 
much to spend a good share of the day going 
to mill. There was a payment due yester- 
day on that money I lent Dawson, and if he 
doesn’t come this morning I shall go around 
and see him.” 

Mr. Hagood paused in the door with a re- 
flective manner, “I don’t know, Almira, but 
’twould he a good idea to take Posey along 
and show her the way; old Jim’s that gentle 


72 


NOBODY’!:^ EOSE 


she could drive him well enough, an’ ’twould 
be dreadful handy sometimes if I could send 
her to mill when I ’m pushed with work. She ’s 
quick to learn anything.” 

‘ ^ Quick enough when she wants to be. But 
why don’t you send her to-day? You can 
tell her the way; she could hardly miss it.” 

Y-e-s, but it’s kind of ticklish gettin’ down 
the hill there at the mill, I’d want to show her 
about that myself. But it ’s just as you say. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Hagood hesitated, but the thought 
that if Posey could take his place in going to 
mill Mr. Hagood could be at work decided 
the matter. ‘ ‘Well, take her then, ’ ’ she said ; 
“she’s in the garden picking peas; call her in 
and tell her to get ready.” 

Just before he was ready to start, Mr. Ha- 
good came in, “There’s never no knowin’ how 
many will be ahead of me, or how long I’ll 
have to wait my turn; the last time I got 
pretty nigh famished, so I wish you’d put up 
a bite o ’ lunch in case I have to wait again, as 
I’m likely to.” 

Then with the bag of wheat in the back of 
the stout buggy, the basket of lunch under 
the seat, and Eover, the old dog, capering 


THE PICNIC 


73 


around them, they set off, between meadows 
where the sun of the July morning had not 
yet dried the dewy freshness from the grass, 
and cornfields, the ribbon leaves of whose 
green rows waved and rustled in the light 
breeze. When they were well outside the 
village Eover came to the side of the buggy 
and looked up with expectant eyes. ^ ‘ Almiry 
says there ain’t no sense in lettin’ a dog 
ride,” Mr. Hagood remarked apologetically, 
^‘an’ I s’pose she’s right. But Eover does 
enjoy it so much that when I’m alone I 
generally let him. Come up, old fellow! 
There,” as the dog hounded into the buggy, 
^ ^ sit up now like a gentleman. ’ ’ And Eover 
lifting his head, lolled out his tongue, and 
looked first at one and then the other with an 
air of deep content. 

It was a five-mile drive, but it seemed short 
to Posey, though easy-going Jim took his 
own gait, and once when Mr. Hagood saw on 
a converging road another wagon piled with 
hags he held his own horse back until he saw 
they had the right of way, which in this case 
assured him a wait of two or three hours at 
least. 


74 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


At last the mill was reached, with the wide, 
smooth pond spreading above it, whose water 
tumbling over the dam hurried foam-flecked 
away through a deep, rocky gorge, made still 
more shadowy by the hemlocks that lined it, 
on whose very verge stood the tall old mill. 
‘‘You think it’s a pretty place?” as Posey 
gave a little cry of delight as the shining 
water came in view. “Well, I do myself, 
for a fact. But look now ef I ever send you 
alone, ’ ’ and Posey watched as he wound down 
the short but steep descent to the mill door, 
through which she looked with wide, curious 
eyes. 

“And you never saw a grist mill afore? 
Well, come right in an’ see one now,” and 
Posey followed Mr. Hagood and the miller 
who had shouldered their bag of wheat in- 
side, where belts and bands were whirring, 
and great hoppers slowly turning as they 
fed the grain to the crushing stones. The 
noise and clatter drowned the miller’s voice 
but she understood his good-natured smile 
and beckoning finger as he opened little doors 
here and there and she caught glimpses of 
the wheat on its way to be cleansed from im- 


THE PICNIC 


75 


purities, of the flour passing through its silken 
bolting sieve, of a flowing brown stream of 
bran, and a white cataract of swiftly falling 
flour: the flour that whitened the miller ^s 
coat and cap, and lay as a covering over the 
floor, and powdered all the beams and ledges 
of the mill, and swayed with the wind in 
cobweb veils and festoons from the high 
rafters. And mingled with all was the 
steady, insistent sound of the falling water 
just outside, the power that gave force and 
motion to it all. 

‘‘Wefll have quite a spell to wait,’’ re- 
marked Mr. Hagood, motioning Posey to the 
door so that his voice could be heard, ‘‘there’s 
two big grists ahead of us; bow’d you 
like to go out on the pond? There’s a boat 
under the willows at the end of the dam. ’ ’ 

Like it? Of course she would, and in a few 
moments she was dipping her fingers in the 
clear water as Mr. Hagood rowed the little 
boat toward the upper end of the pond where 
lily pads were floating on the placid surface 
with here and there a blossom opening waxy- 
white petals. It was an hour that Posey 
never forgot, the soft blue sky above, the 


76 


NOBODY’S EOSE 


gentle motion of the boat, the lake-like water 
that rippled away from the oars, and the lily 
blossoms with their golden hearts. 

‘‘Well, now, Posey,’’ said Mr. Hagood, as 
they drew in to shore at last, “must be about 
noon by the shadders, an’ rowin’s kinder 
hungry work, so I guess we may as well have 
our lunch.” 

For this they chose a spot down close to the 
stream below the fall, on a great rock that 
jutted out, covered with a green carpet of 
softest moss, and shaded by the drooping 
hemlocks that found their foothold in the 
ledges above. Here Posey spread out the 
contents of the well-filled basket, for Mrs. 
Hagood ’s provision was always an ample one, 
the slices of bread and butter, the thin pink 
shavings of dried beef, the pickles, the dough- 
nuts and cookies, while Mr. Hagood added as 
his contribution a couple of big golden or- 
anges. 

“I’m so glad we had to wait!” observed 
Posey as she munched her bread and butter. 

“This isn’t much of a wait,” answered Mr. 
Hagood. “When I was a boy an’ used to 
go to mill with my grist in a bag on the 



It was an hour that Posey never forgot. — Page 75. 


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THE PICNIC 


77 


horse behind me, like as not I’d have to wait 
till the next day. An’ before that when it 
was a hundred miles to the nearest mi ll fa- 
ther used to be gone a week at least.” 

guess he didn’t go very often,” haz- 
arded Posey. 

‘‘Not very, especially as there wasn’t any- 
thing but blazed trees for roads to go by. 
In them early pioneer days when folks first 
began to come here to Ohio it was a pretty 
serious question how to get meal and flour; 
sometimes they’d shave it oft, an’ sometimes 
grind it in a coffee mill. I’ve heard Aunt 
Sally Bliss tell that once she nailed the door 
of an old tin lantern to a board and grated 
corn enough for Johnny-cake for her family; 
while quite a few did like my father ; he hol- 
lowed out a place in the top of a stump, 
worked off a stone till it had a handle for a 
pestle, then put the wheat or corn, a little 
at a time, in the hollow and pounded it till it 
was fine enough to use.” 

‘ ‘ That must have been ever so much work. ’ ’ 

“Yes, there was plenty of hard work those 
days, but the people had real good times after 
all. Sometimes I think better ’n we have 


78 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


now,” he added as he slowly peeled his or- 
ange. 

^‘Not any better than to-day,” protested 
Posey. 

‘‘An’ have yon enjoyed it?” a smile bright- 
ening his face, as the miller came to the mill 
door and waved his whitened hand in token 
that the flonr was ready and they rose to 
leave, “Has it been like a picnic?” 

“A picnic, yes,” a sudden comprehension 
coming to her what he had meant it for. 
“Dear Mr. Hagood, it’s been so good of you, 
and it is the loveliest day I ever had in all 
my life.” 

So it will be seen that even under Mrs. 
Hagood ’s rule Posey’s life was not all 
shadow, the less so that Mr. Hagood touched 
by her pleasure managed with gentle guile 
and under one pretext and another to secure 
her for a companion now and then. Outings 
which it would be hard to tell which enjoyed 
the more, Posey for herself or Mr. Hagood for 
her. Occasionally, too, some matter of busi- 
ness would call Mrs. Hagood away for the 
afternoon, when she would take her towels 
to hem or carpet rags to sew, as the case 


THE PICNIC 


79 


might be, out to the little shop with its min- 
gled odors of fresh lumber, paint, and var- 
nish, where Mr. Hagood hummed old tunes 
and whistled softly to himself as he worked. 
And where seated on a rheumatic buggy seat 
in one corner, with the shaggy head of Eover 
resting on her knee, in watching Mr. Hagood 
at his work, and listening to his favorite old- 
time stories she would find real if unexciting 
enjoyment. 

Then again during the season of raspber- 
ries and blackberries many were the delight- 
ful hours Posey spent berrying in the “back 
pasture.” A field this, only a little remote 
from the village, but hidden from it by a 
hit of intervening woods, and so shut away 
from all outward, disturbing sight or sound 
that with its peaceful stillness and sunny, 
wind-swept solitude, it seemed as genuine 
a bit of nature as though the subduing hand 
of man had never been laid upon it, and one 
which the city-bred child fairly revelled in. 

A big, stony, thin-soiled field was the “back 
pasture,” affording hardly grass enough for 
the two or three cows which fed there, hence 
held in slight esteem by its owner and suf- 


80 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


fered to lapse into an almost unchecked 
growth of briars and undergrowth, with here 
and there a thicket of young and fast-growing 
trees, a spot where wild growths ran riot, 
where bittersweet hung its clusters, and the 
wild grape tangled its strong and leafy 
meshes; a spot, too, that the birds knew, 
where they nested and sang, for the most part 
unmolested and unafraid. 

But the crowning charm of the place to 
Posey was the chattering brook that with 
many a curve and bend, as if seeking excuse 
to linger, ran in a little hollow through the 
centre of the pasture. A clear, sparkling 
little stream, gurgling and hurrying through 
the sunlit spaces, loitering in the shadows 
of the willows whose green fingers bent down 
to meet its current, with shallow places where 
one could wade or cross on stepping-stones, 
and deep pools where minnows loved to gather 
and hide them under the trailing grasses of 
the banks. 

This was Posey ^s first acquaintance with 
a brook and for her it had not only charm but 
almost personality; she talked to it as she 
would to a companion, beside it she felt a 


THE PICNIC 


81 


certain sense of companionship, and no mat- 
ter how often she might come, always she 
greeted the sight of the stream with the same 
delight. 

For her these were truly halcyon days, and 
most fervently did she wish that berries rip- 
ened the year round. As it was, being both 
quick of eyes and nimble of fingers, Mrs. Ha- 
good permitted her to come nearly as often 
as she chose while they were in season. So 
many a summer morning was thus spent, for 
the best picking was to the earliest comer, 
and where it often happened, an addition to 
her own content if not to the contents of her 
basket, she met other children of the village 
bent on a similar errand. 

And always whatever of the hard or un- 
pleasant the days might hold, every week 
brought its Sunday, when the interminable 
hemming and patch-work and carpet rags, 
with the other more distasteful of the week- 
day duties were laid aside for one day. Mrs. 
Hagood was not herself greatly given to 
church-going, but she considered it an em- 
inently respectable habit and saw to it that 
the family credit was duly upheld by Mr. 


82 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


Hagood and Posey. In her own mind Posey 
held the Sundays when Mrs. Hagood stayed 
at home as by far the most enjoyable. For 
then Mr. Hagood could pass her surreptitious 
stems of caraway seed, with an occasional 
peppermint drop; moreover, he could drop 
into a gentle doze, and she could venture to 
move now and then without fear of a sharp 
nudge from Mrs. Hagood ’s vigorous elbow. 

There, too, was the Sunday School, where 
she could sit with a row of other girls, ex- 
change furtive remarks between the teacher ’s 
questions, compare library books, or loiter 
for little chats on the homeward way. 

Then in the long summer Sunday after- 
noons she could lie on the grass under the 
shading maples and read the same library 
books ; or perhaps, what was still better, while 
Mrs. Hagood dozed in her favorite rocker, 
she, Mr. Hagood and Rover, who made the 
third in this trio of friends, would stroll 
away together, beyond the village, across the 
open, sunny, breeze-swept fields, past ripen- 
ing grain and meadow, along fence-rows 
where alders spread their umbels of lace-like 
blossoms, and later the golden rod tossed the 


THE PICNIC 


83 


plumes of its yellow-crested army. These 
fence-rows that were in very truth the ^ ^ squir- 
rels^ highway,’’ on which the sight every now 
and then of one skurrying along with bright 
eyes and bushy tail saucily waving defiance, 
would set Hover nearly wild with excitement, 
to the great amusement of his companions. 

‘‘Poor old Hover!” was the way Posey 
commonly spoke of her dumb friend. But 
there was certainly no occasion for the first 
adjective, for Mrs. Hagood could truly boast 
that nothing around her suffered for the lack 
of enough to eat; and as a reward for his 
canine faithfulness she even went so far as 
to give him a discarded mat on which he 
might lie in the woodhouse. But whine he 
ever so pitifully, he was not allowed to cross 
beyond that threshold and join the family 
circle, a privilege his social dog nature did 
so crave. And all his tail-wagging and mute 
appeals were equally without avail to draw 
from his mistress the caressing touch or 
word his dog soul so evidently and ardently 
longed for. 

Hover was a trusty watch-dog, and for this 
Mrs. Hagood valued him; at the same time 


84 


NOBODY’S BOSS 


she frowned on his idle existence, and had 
even considered the matter of having Mr. 
Hagood make a dog-power that she might use 
him to churn with. Against this her husband 
had urged that he wasn^t heavy enough, 
though privately he confided to Posey that 
it ‘‘wasn^t in nature for dogs to work like 
humans, an^ he wasn’t goin’ to make no dog- 
churn for old Eover to tread, not if he knew 
himself, he wasn’t.’’ 


CHAPTER VI 

THE STOKM BEEAKS 

The thing, however, which rankled deepest 
in Posey’s mind, and caused her more bitter 
feelings than everything else, was that for 
all Mrs. Hagood’s promise, which she her- 
self standing by had heard, that Posey should 
go regularly to the near-hy school, she had 
not been allowed to attend even for a 
single day. At first she had waited expect- 
ing something would be said about it every 
day, and at last had ventured to ask when 
she was to begin. 

Mrs. Hagood heard the question with an 
air of surprise. ‘‘School!” she repeated, 
“and all the house-cleaning, and spring and 
summer work coming on, I wonder how you 
think I can spare you to go to school. One 
would think that with all I’m doing for you, 
and the work you make, that you’d want to 
help what little you could.” 

Posey choked back a lump in her throat ; in 
85 


86 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


her own mind she was snre that she was doing 
more work than she made, and earning all 
she received or she wouldn’t be kept; at the 
same time it was plainly evident that school, 
at least for the present, was not for her. 
^‘If I can’t go this spring term, can I in the 
fall?” she asked somewhat anxiously. 

Mrs. Hagood was busy making pies, and 
fall was far in the future. ^ ‘ Yes, I guess so, ’ ’ 
she answered, glad to get rid of the matter 
so easily. ‘‘If you are a smart girl to work 
this summer you can go to school next fall.” 

So summer went by, and all through its 
days Posey bore this promise in mind ; 
many a time it was an incentive to her when 
she would otherwise have flagged; and a 
spur to endeavor without which she might 
have been negligent. Autumn came, apples 
grew ruddy in the orchards, grapes ripened 
on the wines, and the woods changed their 
summer’s dress of green for one of yellow 
and scarlet. Yet Posey, who all through the 
spring and early summer had watched with 
longing eyes the children passing to and fro, 
saw the opening of the fall term draw near 
— delayed by repairs on the school-house far 


THE STORM BREAKS 


87 


beyond its usual time — without a single word 
or sign as to her going. And the day before 
it was to begin Mrs. Hagood said to her, 
“Posey, I want yon to pick the green toma- 
toes to-morrow morning, then after dinner 
yon can chop them for the mixed pickle.” 

Posey’s heart sank with dismay. The ambi- 
tion the teacher at the Refnge had awakened, 
had grown with her own growth; more still, 
an edncation seemed her one hope of escape 
from the life of a charity dependent, and she 
determined to risk a great deal rather than 
give it np. “Hadn’t I better pick the toma- 
toes to-day!” she asked not withont an in- 
ward trembling of the heart. “Yon know 
school begins to-morrow.” 

Mrs. Hagood pansed in the pantry door. 
“Well, what if it does!” 

“Why, yon promised me, don’t yon remem- 
ber! that I shonld go to school this fall.” 

“I don’t remember, no, and I can’t spare 
yon to go, anyway. There’s all the pickles 
to pnt np, and apples to dry, and apple bntter 
to stir, and the pig to be killed, with lard to 
try ont, and sansage to make, and potatoes 
to be sorted over, and Brother Solon’s wife 


88 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


coming for a visit. You don’t much more 
than earn your salt now, and to go to school 
you wouldn’t be worth anything. All you 
care about it anyway is just for an excuse to 
race and run and get rid of work.” 

‘‘It isn’t, either,” Posey protested hotly, 
“I like to study. Ask my teachers at the 
Eefuge if I didn’t have my lessons. Be- 
sides I want to go to school so I can he a 
teacher myself some day. ’ ’ 

“A teacher,” with a scornful laugh that 
sent the blood to Posey’s face, “a pretty 
teacher you’d make.” 

“And when I came here with you,” Posey 
went on, sticking to the point in issue, “you 
promised that I should go to school.” 

“I can teach you all you need. And for a 
poor girl who has to depend on charity for 
her bringing up, to know how to work is a 
great deal more account than a little smat- 
tering of books, and a lot of high-flown, 
silly ideas that will never amount to any- 
thing.” 

“Then you don’t mean that I shall go to 
school at all?” Posey’s voice trembled a little 
as she put the question. She had grown 


THE STORM BREAKS 


89 


pale around the mouth, and her eyes had 
become wide and dark. 

don’t know as it’s any of your business 
what I intend,” was the answer in Mrs. Ha- 
good ’s most decided tone. ^ H ’ve told you that 
you couldn’t go now, and I don’t want to hear 
another word about it. ’ ’ 

Posey laid down the hall of carpet rags 
she had been winding and faced Mrs. Ha- 
good, her slim figure very erect and a spot of 
red burning on each cheek. ^ ^ You are a wicked 
woman, and a liar,” she cried shrilly, all 
the gathered disappointment and bitterness 
of months breaking out in a sudden hurst of 
fiery passion. ‘^You promised Mr. Mott, at 
the Refuge, that I should go to school ; I heard 
you, and I shall write and tell him just what 
you have done.” 

‘^You will, will you?” scoffed Mrs. Ha- 
good. And who do you suppose will believe 
what you say, a deceiving medium’s child?” 

‘^1 wasn’t her child, as you know well 
enough,” retorted Posey. “And whatever 
she was, she was better than you. She sent 
me to school, and didn’t make me work every 
enduring minute of the time. And my own 


90 


NOBODY’S EOSE 


mother was the most beautiful lady that ever 
lived ; you are no more like her than you are 
like an angel. You are a bad, cruel woman, 
that^s what you are.’’ 

Posey had been so repressed with Mrs. 
Hagood that when her long smoldering re- 
sentment leaped into wrathful words the lat- 
ter stood for a moment in bewildered aston- 
ishment. It was only for a moment, how- 
ever, a color so deep it was fairly purple 
mottled her face; glancing around her eye 
rested on a small wooden rod she had taken 
from a curtain, and seizing this she turned 
on Posey, ‘‘You vile little beggar. I’ll teach 
you to talk that way to me ! ’ ’ 

With the first blow that fell Posey sprang 
forward and fastened her sharp white teeth 
in Mrs. Hagood ’s hand. But the latter’s 
greater strength shook her otf before any- 
thing more than a deep mark had been made, 
the pain of which, as well as the insult of it 
only adding to the storm of blows the hand 
rained. “There,” she exclaimed, as breath- 
less with anger, excitement, and exertion, 
she gave Posey a final violent shake, and 
whirled her into her little bedroom with such 


THE STORM BREAKS 


91 


force tRat she fell in a Reap on the floor, 
‘‘yonTl stay in here till to-morrow morning, 
and weTl see then if you will talk in any such 
way, and fly at me like a wildcat. If you do 
youTl get something that you’ll remember as 
long as you live, I can tell you.” And with 
this parting threat she shut the door with a 
hang. 

Left alone, throbbing with a rage of re- 
sentful passion, into which the physical pain 
entered as a part, Posey threw herself on 
the bed and buried her head in the clothes 
with the old cry, Mamma, my mamma,” 
and then as a gust of stormy sobs shook her 
frame. ‘‘Why can’t I die, too, oh, why can’t 
I?” 

But her tears were not of penitence, far 
from it, and it was well that Mrs. Hagood had 
not demanded of her any expression of sor- 
row for her offense, or of submission for the 
future ; for in Posey’s present mood she would 
have been beaten to death before she would 
either have confessed or yielded. As it was 
she sobbed as softly as she could, and kept 
her face well in the pillow that Mrs. Hagood 
might not have the pleasure of knowing that 


92 


NOBODY^S ROSE 


site was crying, and under lier breath she re- 
peated over and over, as though it gave her 
some relief, ‘‘I hate you, oh, I do hate you, 
you bad, cruel woman 


CHAPTEE VII 

A DESPEBATE EESOLVE 

Veby soon Posey heard dishes clattering 
sharply on the table, for in Mrs. Hagood’s 
state of mind she handled even the plates and 
cups as though they had been guilty of of- 
fense, and presently the little brass bell rang 
out with an energy that warned Mr. Hagood 
it would not be wise to linger in obeying its 
summons. A moment later and his steps 
sounded on the porch, he was wiping his 
hands on the towel that hung by the door, 
they were sitting down at the table, and 
then came his question, ‘‘Where’s Posey to- 
night P’ 

There was but a thin door between her 
room and the kitchen, and Posey had no need 
to strain her ears to hear Mrs. Hagood as 
with loud and forceful emphasis she poured 
forth the story of Posey’s misdoings, to 
which the kindly old man who had taken the 
friendless child to a tender place in his heart, 
93 


94 


NOBODY’S BOSE 


listened sorrowfully. As Mrs. Hagood ended 
she also heard his mild tone, ‘‘Why, now, 
Almiry, I wouldn’t he too hard on Posey; if 
she is quick-tempered she’s soon over it, an’ 
she’s always ready an’ willin’. As for her 
bein’ disappointed about not goin’ to school, 
she oughtn’t to have did what she did, but I 
s ’posed you did mean to send her part of 
the time; it don’t seem quite right not to, now 
really, Almiry, an’ there’s the law, you 
know. ’ ’ 

It was a good deal of a protest for Mr. 
Hagood to make on any subject — more than he 
would have uttered for himself, as Posey well 
knew ; hut the grim silence in which his wife 
had listened was only the hush before the 
storm which he had drawn on his own head. 
“Oh, yes, Elnathan Hagood,” with a biting 
sarcasm of tone, “that’s right and just what 
I might have expected of you ; take up against 
your own wife and for a vile, impudent, little 
street-beggar. You needn’t think you two 
have been so hand in glove all summer with- 
out my seeing it, and this is the upshot, and 
you uphold her in it.” 

“Oh, Almiry!” 


A DESPERATE RESOLVE 


95 


^‘But then I’ve done nothing for you, noth- 
ing at all. I didn’t make you all you are, 
and earn for you all you have. I haven’t 
worked my fingers off day in and day out for 
you. Oh, no ; but you don’t owe me anything 
for that, certainly not. Only I’d like to know 
where you’d be now if it hadn’t been for me, 
and where you’d go now if it wasn’t for me, 
wanting to give to every missionary and shift- 
less creature you can hear of, and to dress 
a pauper up in silk and make a lady of her! 
One thing I guess, you’d find the poor-house 
at the end, and that pretty soon. But then 
that’s all the thanks I get.” 

Now, Almiry, you know better,” expos- 
tulated Mr. Hagood. 

‘^But I’ll tell you one thing,” she continued 
cutting him short, ^4t won’t he healthy for 
you to be a-settin’ her up against me, and 
I’ll see that you don’t have much chance to 
do it. And I’ll tell you another thing you 
may both depend on, she shall never go to 
school now, not a single day. I taught once, 
I can teach her, and I’ll begin to-morrow. 
And one thing more, as long as I have my 
health and strength I don’t propose to he 


96 


NOBODY’S BOSE 


run over in my own house by any miserable 
little upstart, as she ^11 find out to her sorrow 
if she ever tries it again. ’ ^ 

Mrs. Hagood had raised her voice with the 
intention that the words should reach Posey ^s 
ears, who in return shook her small clenched 
fist towards the closed door, and was only 
restrained from calling out the words which 
rose to her lips by the lesson she had re- 
cently and painfully gained, that in a con- 
test of strength she was no match for Mrs, 
Hagood, and was sure to be the sufferer. 

Mr. Hagood sighed as he rose from his al- 
most untasted meal and went out about his 
evening chores. And as Posey’s gust of pas- 
sion ebbed away she sighed also, not only 
for the supper she had been deprived of, 
whose savory whiffs had intensified her al- 
ways healthy appetite, but from the realiza- 
tion, of which this going supperless was an 
evidence, how mortally she had angered Mrs. 
Hagood. For, as she well knew, the battle be- 
tween them was not over ; instead it was just 
begun ; that dominant will would not rest till 
it had crushed and broken the will which 
had dared to oppose it, and Posey aching 


A DESPERATE RESOLVE 


97 


and smarting, bnt rebellions and unyielding, 
lay and looked at the ceiling and felt tbat it 
was indeed a painful way on which she must 
enter with the morrow, and in which her 
one friend, however innocent, must also suf- 
fer. 

These gloomy forebodings of the future 
grew as the darkness thickened in her little 
room ; then a slight sound at her window at- 
tracted her attention, and softly raising the 
sash she found on the sill outside, a long 
row of juicy harvest apples. Tears filled her 
eyes, but they were such as she had not shed 
before that day, and she kissed the red- 
cheeked apples and with a rush of love and 
gratitude for the unspoken kindness they ex- 
pressed. 

Poor, hasty, undisciplined Posey! That 
she had not been blameless she well knew. 
‘‘But Mrs. Hagood was so mean,’’ so she 
justified herself, “or I’d never have done so, 
and I don’t believe anybody else would have 
stood it either. 0 dear ! ’ ’ and she sighed very 
deeply as she munched an apple, “how I wish 
Mr. Hagood and I could go away somewhere 
and live all by ourselves; I’m sure with him 


98 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


I’d never get angry and ngly, and feel like 
fighting. ’ ’ 

For most of all it was love and tenderness 
that her lonely little heart longed for, and 
having these she thought to be good would 
be easy. ‘^Oh, mamma,” was the whispered 
plaint that rose to her lips, ‘4f you had only 
lived I might have been good, but how can 
I now? You told me that God would love 
me, but I don’t think He can for nobody else 
does.” The wind was rising, and as Posey 
leaned against the frame of the still open 
window and listened to it rushing and mur- 
muring through the tall trees around the 
house, and watched the dim, shadowy motion 
of the waving branches, to her excited fancy 
the one seemed to urge, ^‘Come away, come 
away,” and the other like inviting hands to 
beckon, ^‘Come, come.” And as she looked 
and listened an impulse, a sudden resolve 
sprang in her heart, and setting her teeth 
firmly she murmured as if in answer, will 
come, I will ! ’ ’ 

Posey did not undress when she lay down 
again, though first she knelt down by the bed 
and repeated her. 


A DESPERATE RESOLVE 


99 


‘‘Now I lay me down to sleep/’ 

as usual. But to-niglit slie felt that this was 
not enough, that she needed something to 
give fuller expression to the tumult of feel- 
ing within her. At the Refuge she had been 
taught the Lord’s prayer, but instinctively 
she shrank from that clause of forgiveness 
of others, for she well knew that the spirit 
throbbing so hotly in her heart was anything 
but a forgiving one, so for want of something 
better she added a petition of her own, “0 
Lord, I haven’t anybody in the world, unless 
it is you. Take care of me ; show me what to 
do ; help me, please do ! Amen. ’ ’ 

It was the first time in her life that Posey 
had ever really prayed — all which had gone 
before had been a form, a habit. But now in 
the hour of her heart-sinking and loneliness, 
in the stress of her anger and resentment, 
shaken by the mingled impulses of fear and 
the courage which comes of desperation, with 
no earthly support to lean on, her tumultuous 
young soul reached out, feebly it is true, but 
still with real longing, for a guidance and 
strength higher than her own. 


100 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


Posey was too excited by all that had hap- 
pened, too thrilled with her new, wild de- 
termination, to sleep much or soundly. 
Nearly every hour she heard the old clock 
in the kitchen strike, and when she counted 
three she slipped noiselessly out of bed. Her 
room was no longer dark ; a great yellow moon 
had risen and made it, as well as the outer 
world, almost as light as day. Indeed it is 
safe to say that but for that flood of softly 
illuminating brightness Posey would never 
have dared to put her rash impulse to 
the test. As it was, her fingers shook as she 
gathered together a few articles from her 
scanty wardrobe and tied them up in a ging- 
ham apron, not forgetting the few mementos 
of her mother which through everything she 
had clung to, and were the first to be thought 
of now. Then putting on her coarse straw 
hat, and wrapping about her an old cape that 
chanced to be hanging in the room, she took 
her shoes in her hand, cautiously raised the 
window, and carefully crept out, something 
easily done as it was but a few feet from the 
ground. 

As Posey stole around the corner of the 


A DESPERATE RESOLVE 


101 


house old Rover saw her, and after a brief 
sniff came toward her wagging his tail in 
friendly recognition. Many a time had she 
been comforted by the voiceless sympathy in 
the soft eyes of this dumb friend, and now 
as she stroked his head, and felt the touch 
of his warm tongue on her hand, her sense 
of utter desolation was for the moment re- 
lieved. 

When she reached the pantry window 
Posey put down her bundle and stretching 
on tiptoe slipped her slender hand between 
the slats of the blind, and easily lifted the 
latch, and then with the help of a stool on the 
back porch quickly crept in. Mr. and Mrs. 
Hagood slept quite on the other side of the 
house, and moving quietly she had no fear of 
being heard by them, while the bright moon- 
light gave her light enough. 

She had come to the pantry for two rea- 
sons : to make up for the supper she had lost 
the night before, and to get supplies for the 
enterprise on which she was entering. Nor 
did she hesitate to take the best she could 
find. ‘ ‘ I Ve done enough here to earn it, ’ ’ was 
her reasoning, as she helped herself plenti- 


102 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


fully and without a scruple to the company 
cake kept sacredly in a tin box. She appro- 
priated the cold chicken set aside for the 
morning’s breakfast, with a naughty chuckle 
at the thought of Mrs. Hagood’s wrath when 
she should discover its absence, and she 
spread her thick bread and butter with the 
best peach preserves that were only brought 
out on especial occasions. And having sat- 
isfied her appetite she next packed full a 
small-handle basket she found on a shelf, add- 
ing as its crowning delicacy a saucer pumpkin 
pie, she by chance discovered. 

This done, as she was turning to leave, her 
eye fell on a memorandum book with pencil 
attached in which Mrs. Hagood kept her egg 
account. The sight suggested an idea, and 
tearing out a blank leaf she wrote on it as 
best she might by the uncertain light, in a 
sprawling, childish hand : 

‘‘Deau Me. Hagood, 

‘‘You have been so good to me that I aw- 
fully hate to leave you, and I hope you won’t 
blame me for running away, for I couldn’t 


A DESPERATE RESOLVE 


103 


stay any longer, no more at present, good by 
with love, 

‘‘PoseyP’ 

With that she climbed out of the window, 
closed the blind so that all should be secure 
again and tiptoeing around into the wood- 
house laid the folded note on his basket of 
kindlings, where Mr. Hagood would find it the 
first thing in the morning. This done, she 
put on her shoes and hat, took up her bundle 
and basket, to go she knew not where; her 
one thought that it would be away from Mrs. 
Hagood and the renewed contest which the 
morning would be sure to bring. As she 
moved toward the gate the old dog followed 
her with a wistful whine, as if he was puzzled 
by and questioned this strange action. ‘ ^ Dear 
old Eover,’’ Posey whispered, throwing her 
arms around his neck, while her tears fell 
thick on the white star on his forehead, 
‘‘dear old doggie, you must go back; I canT 
take you with me. I wish I could and Mr. 
Hagood, too, so go back, old fellow, and stay 
with him,^’ and with one last hug she shut 


104 


NOBODY EOSE 


the gate between them, with a real pain 
in her heart; and also shut the gate to the 
only place in the wide world that she could 
call home. 

Already she had thought, ‘‘When Mrs. Ha- 
good misses me she will think IVe started 
back to the Eefuge (as I’d like to), and so 
I must go just the other way,” and so it was 
in this opposite direction that she hurried. 
And what a strange world this was into which 
she had come, the world of night, of mystery, 
of strange quiet, of brooding peace. All the 
well-known objects took on a new and unfa- 
miliar look, as though they had different faces 
for the day and the night. In the solemn still- 
ness sounds unheard by day became strangely 
distinct — for the first time she heard the 
spring at the foot of the hill falling into its 
rocky basin ; the cry of a hidden cricket, the 
rustle in the wind of the already fallen leaves, 
the crow of a rooster in a neighboring barn — 
sounds all that in the day she would hardly 
have noticed, how loud and eerie they were 
now! 

In all the village but one light was burning, 
in the room of an old man who had been long 


A DESPERATE RESOLVE 


105 


sick and was near death. As Posey saw it 
she wondered if when people died they went 
out into the night alone, and felt strange and 
perhaps afraid. A few hours before she had 
almost wished she conld die, but now she 
shivered a little at the thought as well as the 
chill of the night air, and the strange sensa- 
tion of being out alone. Yes, she was glad 
to be alive, even if there did not seem to be 
any place anywhere for her. 

Few girls of her age would have dared to 
do what she was doing. But Posey was not 
timid by nature, and much of her courage 
came from the tension of her feverish excite- 
ment. Still, when she had passed through 
the village, where all was familiar and there 
was a certain sense of companionship in the 
clustered houses and the thought of the sleep- 
ing people inside, and leaving the last house 
behind, from the hill-top on which she stood, 
she saw the open fields and dark woods 
stretch away till they melted in dimness, her 
heart beat fast and almost failed. For with 
the sight a sudden sense of desolation rushed 
over her, a realization of how alone and 
young^ and weak and helpless she was. 


106 


NOBODY’S EOSE 


For the first time, too, she began to be 
troubled by thoughts of the future. She had 
heard of runaways who had to sleep nights 
in old barns and under haystacks. Boys 
from the Eefuge had sometimes run away, 
and when brought back had told such stories. 
Very likely she would have to also, and it 
seemed to her that it would be dreadful to 
sleep in an old barn, especially if there should 
be rats. Besides when her little store of 
provision was gone, how would she live un- 
less she begged? She had often seen ragged 
children in the city going from door to door 
with baskets, but that was a degradation she 
had never known — one her whole nature 
shrank from. She would rather starve, she 
felt, than to beg at doors, and perhaps be 
turned away, as she knew beggars so often 
were. 

As all these things rose before her Posey 
almost wished herself back safe in the little 
room she had left. Almost but not quite, for 
a memory of Mrs. Hagood’s face as she had 
last seen it, and Mrs. Hagood’s voice as it 
had last reached her ear stayed her wavering. 


A DESPERATE RESOLVE 


107 


‘‘I won^t go back now, if I die,” she pledged 
herself, setting her teeth firmly, and bracing 
herself with dogged resolution, ‘ ‘ But oh, how 
I do wish I could have brought Rover!” 


CHAPTEE VIII 

A NEW ACQUAINTANCE 

That night’s experience was one Posey 
never forgot. The road she had chosen she 
was now on for the first time; where it led 
to she had no idea ; all she knew about it was 
that it would take her away from Mrs. Ha- 
good, and in the direction where she thought 
there would he least danger of her being 
looked for. But once fairly started she hur- 
ried on, her one thought and anxiety to put 
all the distance possible between herself and 
Horsham before her absence was discovered. 

But what it cost her to do this! To her 
excited fancy the commonest objects — inno- 
cent stumps, wayside bushes, fence-comer 
shadows — took on in the weird light gro- 
tesque shapes that filled her with fear and 
trembling. If she had a stretch of lonely 
woods to pass through she ran till the beat- 
ing of her own heart fairly startled her. 
Was she out of sight of houses, she would 
108 


A NEW ACQUAINTANCE 


109 


quicken her steps and almost fly. When a 
house came in sight she walked more slowly ; 
to be near people, even if they knew nothing 
of her, was something, and the barking of a 
dog was always a welcome sound. When she 
heard it she knew there was something liv- 
ing and awake, which lessened a little her 
feeling that she was a sort of wandering 
spirit, driven on and on in a dim world where, 
save for the uncanny night birds, nothing 
was astir but herself. Yes, Posey was 
afraid, at times desperately afraid, but she 
felt that every step was taking her farther 
from Mrs. Hagood, and for the sake of that 
she was willing both to dare much and to en- 
dure much. 

By and by, however, signs of the coming 
morning began to appear. First a faint line 
of light along the eastern sky, then lights 
were seen gleaming here and there in farm- 
house windows, and curls of smoke rising 
from chimneys, in token that the world was 
rousing to the new day ; once across the fields 
she heard a loud hearty voice calling, ‘‘Coo- 
boss, coo-boss,’’ to the cows in some out-of- 
sight pasture, and again she caught a distant 


110 


NOBODY ROSE 


glimpse of some boys with bags on their shoul- 
ders, evidently off for an early nutting ex- 
pedition. Gradually these signs of life mul- 
tiplied, the clouds grew more rosy, the trees, 
no longer vague, dark masses, showed their 
brilliant hues of red and gold; wayside ob- 
jects lost their dim and spectral look ; all the 
world was waking into the crisp brightness 
of a clear, fresh, autumn morning, sweet with 
the fruity smell of ripened orchards, and rich 
with the soft mellowness of the long summer 
time. 

With everything around her new and 
strange Posey had no idea how far she had 
come. This she did know, that the bundle 
and basket she carried were all the time 
growing heavier, that her aching feet dragged 
more and more slowly, and that she was so 
tired she could go only a little way without 
stopping to rest. 

The sun was now well up, and as Posey 
paused she looked around the unfamiliar 
landscape. What she saw was a stretch of 
level, low-lying fields which merged into a 
wooded swamp — a thick tangle of trees and 
bushes whose dark line spread out as far as 


A NEW ACQUAINTANCE 


111 


her eye could follow. Beyond the swamp, 
and at no great distance, rose a steep range 
of wooded hills ; solid masses of gayly tinted 
colors they appeared that morning, follow- 
ing with gentle curves the windings of the 
swamp; and crowning the highest of these 
hills, rising above the trees, lifted the white 
spire of a church, its gilted weather-vane glit- 
tering in the sun. Before her the white road 
lifted in a long upward swell that made her 
sigh with the thought of climbing it, and shut 
in her view to the flat around. But one house 
was near — a tall gaunt house of weather- 
beaten red, standing on a slight knoll a little 
back from the road, with a single tree, a tall 
and sombre pine, beside it, and all the green 
paper curtains that shaded its front win- 
dows drawn closely down. A dreary house 
it was in, Posey’s eyes, and the people who 
lived in it she thought must grow so tired of 
looking out on those flat pastures, tufted with 
hillocks of coarse, marshy grass, and the 
swamp with its bordering fringe of dead, 
grey bushes. 

But it may be that to her eyes the fairest 
view would have taken on something of her 


112 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


desolate mood. In the sand that now made 
the road, her steps dragged heavier and more 
slowly, hut save for brief pauses to rest she 
dared not stop. She was not far enough 
away. Oh, no, not yet. Mrs. Hagood might 
be hunting her even then, was the thought 
hurrying her on. She was hungry, too, with 
the crisp air, and her exertion, for all the 
hearty lunch she had taken at starting; but 
she was afraid to make any inroad on the 
contents of her basket, for when once that 
was gone she had no idea how or where she 
would get anything more. It would be dread- 
ful to keep feeling so faint and hungry, and 
was there anybody anywhere, she wondered, 
who would pity her enough to give her some- 
thing to eat, or take her in when it came night 
again? Or would she have to go on and on, 
till she fell down somewhere and died? And 
a slow trickle of tears ran down her cheeks 
at the foreboding. This was a hard world, 
she bitterly felt, for girls who had no homes. 
If God was good why didn’t He make homes, 
real homes, for all of them? She was sure 
she would if she were God, and especially 
one for poor Posey Sharpe. 


A NEW ACQUAINTANCE 113 

A little stream, its course marked by fring- 
ing reeds and rushes, wound its way through 
the fields and crossed the road a little way 
before her, spanned there by a wooden 
bridge with high, close sides, overhung at 
each end by clumps of willows which formed 
a thick green screen. Slowly and wearily 
Posey stumbled up the slight ascent leading 
to the bridge ; she had taken but a few steps 
when a loose board rattled under her tread, 
and a moment later she started with a little 
cry as the face of a boy suddenly appeared 
around a side at the farther end. 

His eyes also grew wide with surprise, and 
it was no wonder, for a strange little figure it 
was which met his gaze. Her shoes were 
white with dust, her hat was jammed to one 
side, her cape was all askew, her gingham 
bundle hung limply from one arm, and in the 
other hand was the basket, from which she 
had lost her handkerchief that at first had 
covered it. This basket with the saucer 
pumpkin pie on top, was what first caught 
the boy’s notice, and he called out in a half 
bargaining, half jesting tone, ‘‘Any extra 
pies you want to trade for tinware this morn- 


114 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


ingT’ Then as he saw the tear-stains on 
her cheeks, into which the dust had settled 
in grimy streaks, and her swollen, overflow- 
ing eyes, he quickly swung himself around 
onto the bridge, asking, ‘‘What is it; what’s 
the matter?” 

Now notice was of all things what Posey 
most dreaded, and as the morning was still 
early few people were yet stirring, so till 
now she had not attracted attention. For 
one thing she had been careful not to do so ; 
since daylight she had crept carefully by the 
few houses she had passed, as much in the 
shadow of the fences as possible; and once 
when she saw a wagon coming, with people 
and trunks, as if for some railroad station, 
she had hidden behind a clump of bushes till 
they were gone by. For her great fear was 
that some one would send word to Mrs. Ha- 
good, or even return her by force, and every 
hour but added to her fierce determination 
never to go back — never ! 

Of course she knew thatrshe would be seen 
and questioned. “And I must have some- 
thing ready to say,” had been her thought. 
“Yes, I know, when any one asks me where 


A NEW ACQUAINTANCE 


115 


I am going, I shall tell them that my Aunt 
Mary is sick and has sent for me. I know 
it^s a lie, and I hate liars, bnt I can’t tell the 
truth, and if I had an Aunt Mary and she was 
sick I’m sure she’d send for me,” and with 
this she had salved her conscience. But now 
as she heard the friendly tone, and looked 
into the frank boyish face, with honest, merry 
blue eyes, and a kindly expression under the 
sunburn and freckles, she forgot all her pru- 
dent plans in a longing for the sympathy that 
spoke in his tone, and lifting her eyes to his 
she answered simply, ‘‘I’m running away.” 

He gave a slight whistle of surprise, “Eun- 
ning away? What are you doing that for?” 

By this time Posey had come close to him, 
and putting her bundle and basket down on 
the abutting stone work of the bridge, she 
rolled up her sleeve and showed her arm, 
across which ran a number of angry red 
welts. “And they’re worse here,” she said, 
putting her hand up to her shoulders. 

“My!” he exclaimed, his tone full of min- 
gled sympathy and indignation. “Whatever 
did you do that your mother whipped you 
like that?” 


116 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


‘‘She wasn^t my mother,” was the vehe- 
ment reply, all Posey’s sense of outraged suf- 
fering breaking out afresh. “She was only 
the woman who took me from the Refuge in 
Cleveland ; she made me work from morning 
till night, and scolded me the whole time; 
she was the Grossest woman you ever saw, 
and she wouldn’t let me go to school after 
she had promised at the Refuge that I should. 
And she was mad and whipped me that way 
because I told her that she was a mean, 
wicked liar, just as she was.” Her eyes 
flashed with the remembrance. 

“Haven’t you anybody of your own?” he 
asked. 

She shook her head. “My mother and 
father both died when I was a little bit of a 
girl. ’ ’ Then with a piteous little cry, ‘ ‘ I don ’t 
see why my mother couldn’t have lived or I 
have died, too!” and overcome with a min- 
gling of weariness, nervous excitement, and 
emotion, Posey dropped down beside her bun- 
dle, and hiding her face in it burst into a 
passion of sobs. 

“There, there,” and as he spoke there was 
a shake in his own voice, and a moisture in 


A NEW ACQUAINTANCE 


117 


his own eyes. Don’t cry so, don’t. I’m 
awfully sorry for you. I’ve lost my father 
and mother, too, and I know how tough it is 
on a fellow, though Uncle John and every- 
body have been good to me. ’ ’ 

By this time Posey had succeeded in check- 
ing her sobs, and in answer to his questions 
she poured out her whole story, ending with 
her flight. ‘‘You’re a regular brick,” he ex- 
claimed with boyish enthusiasm as she fin- 
ished, “to start off that way, alone in the 
night. I’d like to see my cousin Emma or 
Fannie doing anything of that sort, and they 
both bigger than you are ; but my, they hardly 
dare to look out of doors alone after it comes 
dark! Won’t I have something to tell them, 
though, when I go home? And I don’t blame 
you for running away, either, though to be 
sure,” he added impartially, “it might have 
been better if you had kept out of a row.” 

“Yes, it would,” Posey admitted meekly. 

“But now that you have done it,” he asked 
in a practical tone, and with a business-like 
clearness, “what are you going to do?” 

“I — I don’t know,” answered Posey, real- 
izing suddenly and with confusion, how very 


118 


NOBODY ROSE 


vague her ideas were, and what a wild un- 
dertaking hers was. ‘^1 didn’t know — I 
thought — I hoped — that I might find some- 
body — somewhere, who would let me live with 
them. I can wash dishes, and iron, and 
sweep, and chum, and bake apple pies and 
ginger-cake — Mrs. Hagood taught me — and 
do lots of things about the house,” sadly feel- 
ing that her list was after all but a short one. 

would try so hard to suit. Don’t you 
think I could find such a place?” and she 
looked in his face appealingly. 

should think so,” he answered after a 
moment’s pause. For with all his boyish- 
ness there was about him a certain thought- 
fulness and readiness of decision, which led 
Posey to regard him with an instinctive trast 
and reliance. ^‘At any rate,” he added, 
‘‘you might try; I don’t think of anything 
better just now that you could do.” 

All this time there had been a frequent 
splashing and stamping down below them in 
the creek, and several times the boy had 
looked over the side of the bridge to call, 
“Whoa, there, whoa,” or “Stand steady, 


A NEW ACQUAINTANCE 


119 


Billy. ‘‘Let^s see/^ lie went on, ‘^you’re 
about eight miles from Horsham now, — you 
must have clipped it pretty lively, but you 
look awful tuckered, and I don^t believe you 
could make another eight miles. 

— I^m afraid not,^^ Posey sadly agreed, 
for having once stopped it seemed to her that 
she never could start on again. 

‘‘And as you’re running away I suppose 
you want to get as far away as you can?” 

“Yes, indeed, I do.” 

“Well, then, I guess I will give you a lift. 
Of course you don’t know me, but my name’s 
Ben Pancost, and I’m a tin peddler,” the last 
with an air of business-like pride. 

“You don’t look old enough to be a tin ped- 
dler,” was Posey’s comment. “All I ever 
saw were old men with hook noses.” 

“I was fifteen last March. I guess Mr. 
Bruce thinks that will do, at any rate I’ve 
been on one of his wagons all summer. I 
stayed last night at that house,” indicating 
by a jerk of his thumb the red house on the 
knoll, “and this morning one of the wagon 
tires seemed loose, so I drove into the creek 


120 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


to let Billy drink, and swell up the wheel. 
Yon saw my red cart as you came along, 
didn’t yon!” 

‘‘No; the willows must have hid it. I 
didn’t know that there was anybody any- 
where near, that was why I was scared when 
yon looked around the corner of the bridge. 
And, oh, it’s so good of yon to let me ride!” 

But Ben had a boy’s horror of thanks. “I 
guess by this time the wheel is soaked,” he 
hastened to say, “so I’ll drive out of the 
creek and then this train will be ready to 
pull out.” 

An hour before Posey would hardly have 
believed that she could ever again feel like 
laughing. But there was something so in- 
fectious in the cheery good humor, the ready 
self-confidence, and above all the hearty sym- 
pathy of her new friend, that she laughed 
gayly at his merry tone and twinkling eyes, 
as, swinging around the comer of the bridge, 
he jumped down, and soon the stout bay 
horse and red cart came into view at the op- 
posite end of the bridge — such a cart as she 
had more than once seen that summer, with 
great sacks of rags piled high on its top^ and 


A NEW ACQUAINTANCE 121 

a fringe of old rubber boots dangling around 
the bottom. 

While Ben was making sure that every- 
thing was in good order and securely fas- 
tened before he started, Posey ran down to 
the clear water and wetting her handker- 
chief washed her face and hands, straight- 
ened her hat and cape, and made herself look 
as tidy as she could. Her spirits had even 
risen so high that sitting down on the grassy 
bank she ventured into her lunch, and fancy- 
ing that she saw Ben give another glance at 
the pie, as a slight expression of her over- 
flowing gratitude she held it out to him, urg- 
ing, ^‘Do take it. I know it^s good, for Mrs. 
Hagood always makes such nice pumpkin 
pies. ’ ^ 

Ben looked at the tempting delicacy with a 
true boy^s appetite. “I’ll tell you what I 
will do,” drawing out his pocketknife, “I’ll 
cut it in two and eat one half if you will the 
other. No, I sha’n’t take the whole of it. 
Besides, I’ve read of people breaking bread 
together as a pledge of friendship ; well, we’ll 
break this pie together as our pledge.” 

“You see/’ he continued as he wiped away 


122 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


the last flaky crumb, ‘Hhe potatoes this 
morning were warmed over, the pork was 
warmed over, the coffee was warmed over, 
and it was a sort of a warmed-over break- 
fast generally. But then I oughtn’t to com- 
plain, for Billy and I had our lodging and 
breakfast, and I only had to give a tin dip- 
per, a quart basin, and two pie tins for it all. 
That’s why I stop at houses instead of hotels 
when I can, the women, mostly, will take tin- 
ware for pay, and as there’s a profit on it, 
why, that makes my expenses that much the 
less for Mr. Bruce.” 

As he helped Posey to the high seat, and 
mounting beside her gathered up the lines 
and chirruped to the horse, she gave a start. 
‘‘Why, you are going hack the way I came.” 

“Only a little way. The road bends so 
you didn’t notice where the one you were on 
came into this, hut I’ll show you the place; 
Horsham is south, and I’m going west; then 
after a little I shall turn north, for I’ve quite 
a circuit to make to-day.” 


CHAPTEE IX 

TWO HAPPY TRAVELERS 

How wonderfully the face of all the outer 
world changes with our feelings. 

It was so with Posey. As her heart grew 
light she began to feel the brightness and 
charm of the sunny October morning, a late 
lingering robin whose note when she first 
heard it a little while before she had thought 
sad and sorrowful, now had a cheery sound ; 
and the call of a flock of blackbirds flying 
over she thought most musical. 

Even the swamp, which had looked to her 
so dismal, as she rode through it was trans- 
formed and became full of delights. Its 
thick crowding bushes gleamed with coral- 
hued berries, its tangled depths were rich 
with every tone of tint or color, and through 
the centre a little river, set thick with lily- 
pads, loitered along with the laziest possible 
current. Not a few of the trees and shrubs 
which bordered the narrow roadway, made, 
123 


124 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


as Ben explained, by filling in earth throngh 
the swamp — were draped with festoons of 
wild clematis vines in their antnmn beauty, 
set with flu:ffy masses of filmy, smoke-hued 
fringe. From her high seat Posey reached 
out and pulled lengths of this, which she 
twined about the dashboard, exclaiming with 
delight at its delicate beauty. A few wild 
roses were still in blossom on the thickets, 
whose gleaming red hips hinted at a wealth 
of earlier bloom, and here and there the scar- 
let leaves of the poison ivy added their vivid 
hue to the wealth of color. 

For part of the way the trees beside the 
roadway met overhead, forming an arch, now 
more of gold than green, through which the 
golden sunshine filtered and flickered in de- 
licious coolness. Once pr twice the narrow 
road widened into a grassy space; ‘‘Turning- 
out places,” Ben explained, for teams to pass 
each other. Which set Posey to wondering 
what people would do if they met in any 
other than the right spot. 

“But they have to meet there,” Ben as- 
serted. “WRen one person sees another 


TWO HAPPY TRAVELERS 


125 


coming he stops and waits. There ^s no trou- 
ble when everybody looks out. ^ ’ 

But what was to Posey the crowning charm 
was a wide drainage ditch or canal, near the 
outer edge of the swamp, the cause of the 
fringe of dead bushes she had already no- 
ticed. Ben stopped his horse on the bridge 
that crossed it, that at their leisure they 
might look up the long, straight stretch of 
water, whose clean-cut banks of velvety turf 
narrowed in perspective till they seemed at 
last to meet in the level distance, while on its 
still surface, trees, shrubs, clumps of nodding 
blue asters, and the sky, bluer than all, were 
reflected as in a mirror. 

“Oh, how lovely!’’ cried Posey. “I never 
saw so pretty a place in all my life. I wish 
we could ride through it all day. ’ ’ 

“Yes, it is pretty,” answered practical 
Ben, “hut it’s not good for much as it is now. 
I suppose, though, it will all he dry land 
some day; that’s what the man said where I 
stayed all night, and this big ditch is to help. 
He thought some time it would all he dry 
land.” 


126 


NOBODY’S BOSE 


‘‘At any rate, I^m glad to have seen it as 
it is now,’’ declared Posey. 

For Posey had yielded herself to the glad- 
ness of the day, and in after years it stood 
apart in her memory. There was the de- 
licious sense of freedom as of a bird escaped 
from its cage, with that of triumph as the 
distance widened between her and her late 
bondage ; and in addition the blissful reaction 
from anxiety, the rest after fatigue, the hap- 
piness in her new-found friend, and of trust- 
ing confidence in his protecting care and su- 
perior knowledge. She had shaken off the 
past, the future was an unknown quantity, 
the happy present was enough. 

For to Posey, whose life had held such a 
scanty store of pleasure, one continued de- 
light was that long ride in the soft, warm, 
October sunshine. Through quiet country 
roads they wound, among fields green with 
aftermath, and hills rich with October woods. 
Sometimes these were so near that she could 
see the ripe leaves dropping softly down like 
a golden rain, and again distant with all their 
varied hues of gold and scarlet and crimson 
and russet blended by the misty autumn haze ; 


TWO HAPPY TRAVELERS 


127 


but whether near or far always a splendor 
of color. The cornfields along the way were 
dotted with great sheaves of the harvested 
corn, among which the orange spheres of the 
pumpkins lay thick, and where the buskers 
were busy stripping the husks from the yel- 
low ears that overflowed baskets and heaped 
wagons. 

Orchards, too, there were, fruity with scent 
of the red-cheeked apples which loaded the 
trees. Occasionally they met loads of ap- 
ples on the way to be made into cider. Once 
they passed a cider mill by the roadside, and 
stopped for a drink of the sweet juice as it 
came fresh from the press. At another time 
they drove under a tree overgrown by a wild 
grapevine, and Ben, standing on the seat, 
had gathered his hands full of the little, spi- 
cy-flavored, frost grapes. While scattered 
along the way were clumps of woodbine, its 
leaves flushed russet crimson ; bittersweet 
with its clustered orange berries beginning 
to show their scarlet hearts; with lingering 
sprays of golden rod, and lavender drifts of 
the wild aster. The farmhouses at which 
Ben stopped to trade — for he was too faith- 


128 


NOBODY^S ROSE 


ful an employee to forget his business for 
any pleasure — had for the most part, it 
seemed to Posey, a cozy, homelike air, the 
yards of many gay with fall flowers that the 
frosts had not yet killed. 

And how their tongues did run ! Ben Pan- 
cost had to hear in its fullest detail Posey’s 
whole story, with especial interest in that 
part of her life with Madam Atheldena 
Sharpe. 

‘‘How many different cities you have 
seen!” he exclaimed once with an accent of 
almost envy. 

“No, I never saw very much of them after 
all. You see, we always lived in a crowded 
part, so one was a good deal like another. ’ ’ 

“And how did you use to feel when you 
were pretending to he a spirit?” 

“Oh, sometimes I thought it was sort of 
fun. One day, I remember, at school the 
teacher had us put our hands up and up as 
we sang, higher and higher, like this,” and 
she raised her arms in a gently undulating 
motion. “That evening I did it again as I 
came out, and the people at the seance all 
held their breath and whispered, ‘Oh, how 


TWO HAPPY TRAVELERS 


129 


beautiful ! ^ You ought to have heard them, ’ ^ 
and Posey laughed as she recalled the inci- 
dent. ^‘Yes, sometimes it was no end of fun, 
but most times I was tired and sleepy and it 
was so tiresome. The changing dresses, and 
wigs, and all that, and I used to think how 
stupid the folks were not to know that it was 
only me. ’ ’ 

^‘And were you frightened when they 
found you outT^ 

<< Frightened? Well, I guess I was! I 
knew the Madam would be in a rage, and I 
didnT know what they would do to me, either. 
They tore my wig off, and crowded round 
me, and everybody was talking at once, but I 
pulled away, somehow, and ran. My, how 
I did run ; ’wslj up into the attic ! I ’d never 
been there before, but it was some place to 
hide, and it wasnT so bad, for I stumbled 
onto an old mattress, only I was afraid there 
might be rats. But I wasnT as afraid of the 
rats as I was of the people downstairs, and 
by and by, when it was all still, I went to 
sleep. Then in the morning when I waked 
up and went down the Madam was gone. 
She knew that I had no other place in the 


130 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


world to go to; but she never did care for 
anybody but herself. I tell you, it was aw- 
ful to be turned out so, and not know what 
to do. I felt almost as bad as when you saw 
me this morning.^’ 

^‘It was a shame,’’ Ben agreed heartily. 
‘‘But then she couldn’t have been a very good 
woman, anyway. And don’t you think it was 
just as wrong as lying to deceive people so ? ” 

“I suppose it was,” Posey admitted sim- 
ply. “My mamma always told me never to 
tell lies, and I don’t mean to ; but I began to 
‘manifest,’ as she always called it, when I 
was so little that I didn’t think anything 
about its being right or wrong. I should 
have had to done it whether I wanted to or 
not, for when Madam was cross I tell you I 
had to stand round. Besides, that was the 
way we made our living, and in the city folks 
have to have money to live. Here in the 
country you don’t know anything about it. 
Look at the apples in that orchard. I used 
to go to the market for Madam and buy a 
quart of apples. Just six or seven, you 
know. Sometimes I could get a market- 
woman to put on one more, and then I had 


TWO HAPPY TRAVELERS 


131 


that to eat for myself. And milk! Why, 
we never bought more than a pint at a time, 
more often half a pint; and a half a pound 
or a pound of butter. You don^t know how 
strange it did seem to go out and pick things 
off as they grew, and to see so much of every- 
thing. ’ ’ 

wouldn’t want to live that way,” ad- 
mitted Ben. 

guess not. Sometimes I felt so much 
older than the other girls of my age at Hor- 
sham. They had fathers and mothers who 
bought them everything. They never 
thought about the cost, and they all had 
spending money — not a great deal, but some 
— to use as they pleased. And I — ^why I can 
hardly remember when I didn’t have to think 
about the price of everything. When Madam 
gave me money to go out and buy things she 
used to say, ^Now see how far you can make 
this go.’ She was always telling me how 
much my shoes and clothes and what I ate 
cost. And as for ever having any money to 
spend for my very own self, why I wouldn’t 
know what that was.” She paused and an 
accent of bitterness crept into her next words ; 


132 


NOBODY^S ROSE 


You may say what you please, but I believe 
God cares a lot more for some folks than He 
does for others. He gives them such a sight 
more. At any rate, I^m ’most certain He 
doesn’t care anything for me,” and she gave 
the red dashboard a little kick by way of em- 
phasis. 

^^Why, Posey!” Ben cried in astonish- 
ment, ^^God cares for everybody!” 

‘^Well, then,” protested Posey fiercely, 
^^why did He make my mother die, and why 
doesn’t He give me a home somewhere?” 

Ben looked puzzled for a moment, then he 
brightened. ‘ ‘ Hid you ever ask Him to take 
care of you?” 

^‘Yes, I did last night. I asked Him to 
help me, and take care of me. And where 
would I be now if it wasn’t for you?” 

^‘Why, Posey!” cried Ben triumphantly. 

Don’t you see that He sent me?” 

^‘Do you think He did?” A sudden seri- 
ousness had come into Posey’s face. 

^^Of course. I know it Why, once when 
I was a little boy I had a bow and arrow. 
One day I shot my arrow away so far I 
couldn’t find it, though I hunted and hunted. 


TWO HAPPY TRAVELERS 


133 


Finally I knelt right down in the grass and 
asked God to help me find my arrow ; and do 
you believe me, when I opened my eyes the 
first thing I saw was my arrow, only a little 
way from me. Perhaps if you had asked 
God to help you before he would have done 
so.’’ 

‘^But,” persisted Posey, sometimes it 
doesn’t help people any when they do pray. 
There was a woman in Horsham whose 
daughter was sick this summer, and she had 
folks come and pray for her to get well, but 
she died all the same. ’ ’ 

As she was speaking Ben drew out a hand- 
some pocketknife. ‘Hsn’t that knife a 
dandy?” he asked, holding it out in his hand. 
‘^Five blades, all the very best steel, and the 
handle inlaid. When I was seven years old 
my Uncle Ben, in Nebraska, that I was named 
for, sent it to me. Father said I was too lit- 
tle to have such a knife then, that' I would be 
apt to break it, and to cut me with it, so he 
laid it away till I was older. Well, I wanted 
it then, and I used to tease and tease father 
for it, and almost think it was unkind and 
mean in him to keep my own knife away 


134 


NOBODY^S ROSE 


from me. The day I was ten years old he 
said: 

‘ ‘ ‘ Ben, here is yonr knife. If I had given 
it to you at the first, as you wanted me to, 
very likely it would by this time be broken 
or lost, and you might have been badly hurt 
with it. Now you are old enough to value 
and use it carefully. And when you look at 
it remember this, my boy, that God often has 
to do by us as I have by you — refuse us the 
thing we ask for because it might hurt us, or 
because the time has not yet come when we 
are ready for it. Refuses us simply because 
He loves us.’ ” 

‘‘Why, Ben!” exclaimed Posey with wide- 
open eyes, “I never heard anything like that 
before. And you talk just like a minister.” 

“I’m only telling you what my father said. 
Perhaps because he died so soon afterwards 
is one reason I’ve always remembered it. 
And he was good as any minister. I don’t 
believe there ever was a better father,” and 
there was a tremble in Ben’s voice. 

“Tell me about yourself now; I’ve told 
you all about myself,” urged Posey. 


CHAPTEE X 

BEN^S STORY 

‘‘I haven’t mnch of anything to tell,” Ben 
answered slowly. ^^You see, I always lived 
in the country, and in just one place till 
father and mother died four years ago. But, 
oh, it was so pleasant there! Back of the 
house was the orchard, and beyond that a 
long hill where we went coasting in the win- 
ter, Theodore and I — he’s my brother three 
years older. At the foot of the hill was a 
little creek where we used to go fishing in 
spring. The fish were mostly suckers. I 
suppose some folks wouldn’t have cooked 
’em; but then mothers will do ’most any- 
thing for boys ; at any rate, such a mother as 
ours would, and my, but they did taste good ! 
We used to skate on the creek, too, in the 
winter. But you’ve never been in the coun- 
try in the winter; you don’t know what fun it 
is : sliding down hill, sleighriding, and snow- 
135 


136 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


balling, all such fun,'’ and Ben's eyes spar- 
kled as be named them. 

^ ‘ The house, too, was so cozy. A red house 
with a trumpet-vine growing over it, and a 
long porch in front. I always like to see a 
red house because it makes me think of home. 
And out in the orchard there were straw- 
berry apples, and seek-no-furthers, and none- 
suches. A big grapevine ran all along the 
woodhouse. There was a black-walnut tree 
in the back yard, some chestnut trees in the 
pasture, beside hickory trees in the north 
woods. And didn't we go nutting in the fall, 
just didn't we ! Whole bags of nuts to crack 
in the winter evenings and eat with apples, 
though the getting 'em is better than the eat- 
ing, after all. 

^^On the edge of the creek was the sugar 
bush, and in the spring we used to help father 
gather the maple sap from the trees and boil 
it down in the old sugar house. It was hard 
work, but there was fun with it — the sugaring 
off, and making wax on the snow, and stir- 
ring the warm sugar. I tell you I feel awful 
sorry for boys who have never lived in the 
country and had any of the good times. Of 


BEN’S STORY 


137 


course we went to school, not quite a mile 
over the hill, and Sundays we went three 
miles to church. 

^‘And best of all were father and mother! 
I couldn’t begin to tell you how good they 
were. Mother used to tell us stories, and 
help us make halls and kites; and father 
would take us with him, and let us follow him 
about the farm, when I suppose we hindered 
a good deal more than we helped. He was 
always ready to answer our questions, too, 
and to help us with a hard lesson, and he used 
to give us calves and lambs for our very own. 
I don’t believe there ever was a father and 
mother did more to make two hoys happy,” 
and Ben drew a tremulous sigh. 

^‘Mother was always delicate,” he went on 
after a moment’s pause, ‘^and father and we 
hoys used to do all we could to help her. But 
one fall she took a hard cold — none of us 
once thought of it being anything more than 
a cold. All winter she coughed so hard, and 
nothing the doctor gave her did any good. 
Theodore and I used to say to each other, 
‘When it comes spring then mother will be 
well again, ’ and we were so glad of the warm 


138 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


days, for they would make mother better. 
She didn’t get better, though; she kept grow- 
ing weaker and weaker, and the children at 
school began to ask me did I know my mother 
was going to die? It made me so angry to 
have them say such things; and sometimes 
I would wake up in the night and find Theo- 
dore crying, for he is older, you know, and 
realized more what was coming. Then I 
would put my arms around his neck and say, 
‘Don’t cry, Theodore; of course mother will 
get well. Why, we can’t live without her!’ 

“So it went on till September, and by that 
time she could only walk around the house 
a little, and had to lie on the sitting-room 
lounge most of the time ; but so sweet and pa- 
tient, there was never any one like her, I’m 
sure. Father used to come in from his work 
every little while and sit beside her, and when 
he went out I would see the tears in his eyes, 
for I suppose it was hardest of all for him. In 
September the men came with the thrashing- 
machine to thrash the wheat and oats. It 
was a chilly day for that time of the year, with 
one of those raw, sharp winds that cuts right 
through you. The dust of the thrashing al- 


BEN’S STORY 


139 


ways made father about sick, and with that 
and the weather he took a sudden cold that 
settled on his lungs. That night he was so 
sick Theodore had to go for the doctor, and, 
Posey, he only lived three days. 

^ ‘ I couldn T believe it. He had always been 
so strong and well that I had never thought 
of his dying. I knew the doctor thought he 
was very sick, and we were all frightened, 
but I didn’t once think he was going to die. 
And when he called us to him to hid us good- 
by, and told us to do all we could for mother, 
and to he good hoys and good men, and live 
so that we should be ready for God’s call 
when it came for us — I didn’t believe it even 
then — I didn’t believe it till he was — ^gone.” 

Ben’s voice had grown husky, and he 
stopped for a little before he could go on. 
‘‘For about two weeks after that mother 
kept about as she had been, and what with 
the shock and excitement even seemed a lit- 
tle stronger. But one night we had to help 
her into her room and the next morning she 
said she felt so weak she wouldn’t try to get 
up. And she never left her room again. She 
failed so fast it seemed as though we could 


140 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


just see her slipping away from us ; and she 
was so happy to go, except as she was sorry 
to leave us hoys. She told us how we had 
better manage, and what she wanted us to 
do and be; and I don’t believe either Theo- 
dore or I will ever forget what she said to 
us or the promises we made to her. 

^‘When father died it was hard enough, 
though there was mother left. But when she 
went, only three weeks after him, I tell you 
it was awful. I never shall forget as long 
as I live the evening after mother’s funeral. 
You see, father had only one brother. Uncle 
Ben, out in Nebraska, so of course he 
couldn’t come. Uncle John, mother’s only 
brother, lived fifty miles away, and George, 
his hoy, was sick with a fever, so he had to 
go right hack; that left us all alone with 
Matty, the girl. And after we had looked 
after the chores and went in and sat down 
everything was so strange and empty and 
lonesome, I never shall forget it. 

Every night since we could remember 
father, or mother if he was away, had read a 
chapter in the Bible and had prayers. After 
father died Theodore had read the chapter 


BEN’S STORY 


141 


and mother had prayed, if it was only a word 
or two, till the very last night she lived. She 
had said she hoped we wonld try and do as 
near as we could as we always had when she 
and father were with us, so Theodore thought 
we’d better have prayers; that they’d want 
us to. He read the chapter — I don’t see how 
he did it — and said he thought we could say 
the Lord’s prayer, anyway, and we kneeled 
down and began. But all at once it came 
over us like a great wave how everything 
was changed and always would be, and it 
broke us all up so we couldn’t go through 
with it.” And Ben’s voice choked and failed 
him at the recollection, while unchecked tears 
of sympathy ran down Posey’s cheeks. 

^‘When Uncle John went away he told us to 
do the best we could and as soon as George 
was better and he could leave home he would 
come and help us settle everything up. There 
wasn’t so very much to do beside the every- 
day work except to gather the apples and 
harvest the corn. We had a big field of corn 
that year, but we managed to get it cut up and 
began to husk it. But it was slow work, for 
I was only a little shaver — ^not quite eleven 


142 


NOBODY’S BOSE 


years old, and Theodore isn’t strong like I 
am. It came on cold early that fall and we 
got pretty discouraged. One night there was 
a circle ronnd the moon, and Theodore said 
he was afraid we were goin’ to have a snow- 
storm. That would make the husking harder, 
and we both felt real worried. But what do 
you think! When we went out in the field 
the next morning the corn was all husked and 
in heaps ready to draw in! It had been a 
moonlight night and the neighbors had all 
turned in and done it for us. They were all 
so good to us I shall never forget it of them. 

‘‘As soon as he could Uncle John came 
back, and then we sold the farm. We hated 
to, but he thought that was best, for though 
it was only a small one we were too young 
to manage it. When everything was settled 
there was eight hundred dollars apiece for 
Theodore and me. Uncle John put this out 
at interest for us, secured by mortgage so it 
should be safe, and took us home with him. 
But Uncle John isn’t rich by any means, and 
he has five children of his own, so though they 
are all kind as can be we didn’t want to live 
on him. For two years now, I’ve been driv- 


BEN’S STORY 


143 


mg this tin-cart summers. I get twenty dol- 
lars a month and my expenses, and I’ve a 
hundred dollars in the bank I earned myself. 
Winters I live at Uncle John’s and go to 
school. He won’t take anything for my 
board, but I buy dresses and things for Aunt 
Eunice and my cousins ; they are so good to 
me I want to do what I can for them. With 
what I earn and the interest on my own 
money, as soon as I’m old enough I mean to 
buy a farm. I would like a store, but Uncle 
John thinks a farm is safer, and perhaps I’ll 
buy the old farm back.” 

^^How nice that would be!” cried Posey. 

<<Why, see here, Posey,” with the force of 
a sudden idea, ^‘when I get a farm I shall 
need somebody to keep the house, and I’ll tell 
you what I’ll do. I’ll marry you. Then you 
can have a home, too; we’re both orphans 
and haven’t either of us one now.” 

Posey clapped her hands. ^^That will be 
splendid! I know I should just love to live 
on a farm, and I will learn to make butter, 
and do all the things they do on farms. But,” 
and her face sobered, won’t your brother 
want to live with you?” 


144 


NOBODY’S BOSE 


“No; Theodore doesnT take to farming. 
He’s teaching now, a summer school up in 
Michigan. His plan is to go to college and 
then be a minister. He ’ll make a tiptop one, 
too.” 

“I think you ought to he a minister,” said 
Posey. “You talk good enough for one.” 

“Me? Shucks,” and Ben gave a long 
whistle. “I ain’t good enough for a minis- 
ter. Besides, I never could talk before folks 
as Theodore can. I wish you could hear him 
lead the Endeavor meeting. I tried to once, 
and my, I was so scared I didn’t know 
whether I was afoot or horseback.” 

Posey’s eyes had grown wide. “Why, I 
thought it was only grown-up people who 
were Christians and dreadfully good, like 
old Deacon Piper and Mr. Hagood, who spoke 
in meetings.” 

“This was just Endeavor meeting. But 
then that isn’t so at all.” Ben’s tone was 
emphatic. “Boys and girls can be Chris- 
tians ; mother explained that to me years ago. 
It’s just loving God best of all, and trying to 
do as He wants us to. Folks don’t have 
to wait till they are grown up to do that, or 



“ AVhKN I GET A FARM I SHALL NEED SOMEBODY TO KEEP THE 

HOUSE.” — Page 143. 



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BEN’S STORY 


145 


are awfully good, either. I’m glad they 
don’t, or there wouldn’t be much show for 
me ; my temper boils over about as quick as 
Aunt Eunice’s teakettle. But I keep peg- 
ging away at it, and I can hold on better than 
I could, I know, for some of the folks I trade 
with are enough to provoke a saint. But 
that’s the only way to grow good — keep try- 
ing. You can do that as well as anybody. 
And you love God, don’t youl” 

She shook her head as she answered mourn- 
fully, ‘^I’m afraid not. I know I don’t feel 
about Him as you do.” 

^H’m sorry,” Ben said simply. wish 
you did. You don’t know what a comfort it 
is when you get in a tight place and things 
seem to be mixed up all in a tangle, to feel 
that God will make everything come out just 
as is best for you. I really wish you did.” 

Posey made no answer. She only reached 
up and caught a handful of leaves from a 
tree they were passing under, and asked Ben 
what kind of leaves they were. At the same 
time the fact that Ben Pancost, a boy who 
had a freckled face, who laughed and joked 
and told funny stories, who loved to skate, 


146 


NOBODY BOSE 


to coast, to play baseball, and in short en- 
joyed all the things that boys did, should talk 
about loving God, and God^s taking care of 
him, as though this was the most natural 
thing in the world, made a deep impression 
on her mind, and one that never was forgot- 
ten. 


CHAPTER XI 

A STOKM, AND A SHELTEB 

Ben’s story, here given as a whole, had 
really been interrupted by one or two busi- 
ness calls. It was evident, even to Posey, 
that Ben was a decided favorite along the 
route; for in addition to his boyish good- 
humor, his obliging ways, as well as his 
truthfulness and honesty, had won for him 
many customers, and many friends among 
his customers. Posey could hardly have told 
if she more admired or was amused by the 
brisk, alert way in which he sorted over the 
bags of rags brought out to him, made his 
bargains, and marshalled his array of tin- 
ware. 

‘^The fact of the matter is,” he exjplained 
to Posey as he was making a memorandum 
in his note-book of one quart, and one two- 
quart basin to be brought the next trip, ‘‘I’m 
pretty well sold out of stock, except milk 
pails, tin dippers, and nutmeg graters and 
147 


148 


NOBODY EOSE 


the graters are a fancy kind at twenty-five 
cents. That’s a little too high for them to 
go easily. I guess I’ll tell Mr. Bruce — ^he’s 
the man I work for — that he’d better not or- 
der any more; things that run from ten to 
twenty cents sell the best. That’s about 
what a common hag of rags comes to, and 
folks would rather not pay money besides. 
I’d rather not pay money, either, for, you see, 
besides the profit on the rags I buy, there’s 
the profit on the goods I sell; so when I 
haven’t what they want, if they will wait I 
bring it next time I come, and I always take 
pains to pick out what I think will suit, too. ’ ’ 

As it drew towards noon Posey suggested 
that they share the rest of the contents of 
her basket. But Ben urged, ‘^Wait a lit- 
tle.” And when a few moments later com- 
ing over a hill they entered a small country 
village he drew up before its modest hotel 
with a flourish, remarking as he did so, ‘ ^ This 
train stops twenty minutes for refresh- 
ments. ’ ’ 

‘‘But, Ben,” expostulated Posey, “I’m 
sure there’s enough for us both in the bas- 
ket.” 


A STORM, AND A SHELTER 149 


‘‘That will do for lunch this afternoon. I 
tell you, the afternoons are pretty long.’’ 

“But you know,” and Posey hesitated over 
the words, “we will have to pay if we eat 
here, and I haven’t any money.” 

“Ho !” scoffed Ben. “I guess when I ask 
a young lady to take a ride with me I can get 
her a bite to eat; that’s the proper thing to 
do. Besides, I never took a girl riding be- 
fore, that is, except my cousins, and I want to 
do it up swell. Why, lots of the hoys I know 
are always asking the girls to go somewhere, 
though what they can find to say to each 
other is more than I can imagine. And Fred 
Flood, only a year older ’n I am, has been en- 
gaged. He was engaged to Millie Grey for 
two weeks, then they quarreled out, he burned 
all her letters in the back yard, and they 
haven’t spoken to each other since. 

“I s’pose, though,” Ben’s tone was reflec- 
tive, “I shall come to it some day ; write notes 
to the girls, and go after ’em in my best 
clothes an’ with a choke collar, as Cousin 
George does. But I guess it will be some 
time first,” and Ben laughed. 

“It must make one feel real grow-up-like. 


150 


NOBODY ROSE 


though, to have a written invitation,’’ re- 
marked Posey. had a letter from a boy 
once,” the dimples in her cheeks showing at 
the recollection. 

‘‘What was in it?” 

“Oh, there was a shield made with red 
and blue crayons, and ‘U. S.’ in big letters at 
the top and bottom of the paper ; then it said, 

‘Dear Posey, 

‘If you love me, 

As I love you, 

No knife can cut 
Our love in two.’ 

The boy sent it to me in school one day.” 
“What did you write back?” 

“Nothing. I didn’t like the boy, anyway. 
Besides, I shouldn’t have known what to 
write.” 

“You might have written, 

“ ‘The rose is red. 

The violet blue. 

Tansy is horrid, 

And so are you.’ ” 

And then they both laughed. 

By this time a leisurely landlord in his 


A STORM, AND A SHELTER 151 

shirtsleeves had made his appearance, and 
with a hand on each hip, stood calmly looking 
them over. would like my horse fed, and 
dinner for myself and this lady.’^ Ben’s 
tone had its business accent as he jumped 
down and helped Posey from the high seat to 
the ground. 

‘‘All right,” and stepping forward the 
landlord took the lines. “But seems to me 
you’re rather a young couple. Wedding 
trip, I s’pose?” 

“Tin wedding!” and Ben gave a jerk of 
his thumb towards the cart. 

What a sumptuous banquet to Posey 
seemed that dinner. Surely fried chicken 
was never before so good, and baked pota- 
toes and squash so toothsome, or peaches 
and cream so delicious; even the decidedly 
slabby cake she ate with a relish. She had 
recovered from her fatigue, her eyes shone, 
her cheeks were flushed with pleasant excite- 
ment; she was ready to laugh at all of Ben’s 
nonsense, and the pleasantries of the good- 
natured landlord who served them. While 
Ben, delighted at her happy mood, as he 
looked at her and listened to her merry laugh, 


152 


NOBODY EOSE 


could hardly realize that this was the same 
woeful little figure he had met so few hours 
before. 

They had not been long on the road again 
when Ben began to cast doubtful glances at 
a dark cloud swiftly rising in the west. ‘ ^ I ^m 
afraid we’re going to have a shower,” he 
said at last. And then after a few moments, 
know we are. I see the rain coming over 
those woods now. It’s a mile or more away, 
but it’s working this way fast.” 

‘^What will you do?” Posey questioned 
anxiously. 

must try and get in somewhere. I’m 
pretty well fixed for storms, with a big um- 
brella and oilcloth apron. I’ve a cover for 
the load, too, but the trouble is I’ve got so 
many rags on now it won’t go over, so I must 
find some place to drive in. Hurry up, 
Billy,” and he shook the lines over the stout 
bay’s back. don’t know this road, either. 
I always go the one next south; it has more 
houses, but the landlord said there was a 
bridge down on it an’ I would have to come 
this way.” 

^Ht’s beginning to sprinkle,” and Posey 


A STORM, AND A SHELTER 153 

held out her hand. ‘‘I feel the drops. But 
there’s a house just ahead; perhaps you can 
find a place there.” 

As they neared the white farmhouse they 
saw that a long woodhouse stretched from 
one side, its old-fashioned arched opening 
toward the road. ‘^Can I drive under your 
shed?” Ben shouted to an old lady he saw 
just inside. And then as the first gust of the 
swift-coming storm began to patter thick 
about them, hardly waiting for a reply, he 
turned Billy at a swinging trot up the drive, 
and in another moment they were safe under 
shelter, while a whitely driving sheet of rain 
blotted out all the outer world. 

‘‘You was just in the nick o’ time, wasn’t 
you?” said the little round-faced old lady, 
who was busy catching and putting in a box a 
flock of little turkeys that flew about the 
woodhouse squawking and fluttering, while 
the mother turkey shook her red head and 
uttered a dissonant protest. 

“You see,” she explained, “if turkey 
chicks get wet it’s almost sure to kill ’em. 
They’re the tenderest little creatures that 
ever was to raise, an’ the hen turk’s no more 


154 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


sense than to trail out in the rain with ’em, 
so I’m goin’ to put ’em where they’ll be safe. 
It’s dreffle late to have little turks, but that 
hen beats all to steal her nest, an’ seein’ she’s 
hatched ’em I thought I’d try an’ help her 
raise ’em. They’ll be good eatin’ along in 
the winter.” 

When the last scantily-feathered, long- 
necked turkey chick had, with Ben and 
Posey’s help, been captured and placed in 
the box, and the mother turkey had mounted 
the edge of it, they had time to notice the neat 
rows in which the wood was piled, the ground 
swept hard and clean as a floor, and the tin 
wash-basin hanging over a bench beside the 
pump scoured till it shone like silver. ‘‘I 
guess it ain’t nothin’ but a shower,” chir- 
ruped their hostess; ‘^come into the house 
an’ hev some cheers while you wait. I’m 
glad you happened along, not that I’m afraid, 
but it’s sort o’ lonesome-like to be alone in a 
storm.” 

As she talked she led the way through the 
kitchen into a big sitting-room, where a new 
rag carpet made dazzling stripes on the floor, 
and the lounge and rocking-chair were gay 


A STORM, AND A SHELTER 


155 


with, the brightest of chintz. Posey had al- 
ready decided that this was almost the nicest 
old lady she had ever seen ; there was some- 
thing at once placid and cheerful in both tone 
and manner, and a kindly good-nature seemed 
to radiate even from her black silk apron. 
‘‘I declare, for’t, if the rain isn’t Mowin’ in 
at that winder,” she exclaimed as she low- 
ered a sash. 

^‘Aren’t you afraid the wind will Mow 
down those great trees on the house 1 ’ ’ asked 
Posey, as she glanced out a little fearfully at 
the branches bending and twisting in the 
storm. 

‘‘La, no, child,” was the placid answer; 
“they’ve stood worse storms than this. I 
don’t know what you would have done to 
have lived here as I did when I was your age. 
Right in the woods we was then, with the tall 
trees all around the log house; an’ in a big 
storm you could hear crash, crash — the trees 
cornin’ down in the woods, an’ didn’t know 
what minute one would fall on the house. 
Once there come a real tornado — a windfall, 
they called it them days; a man in the next 
town just stepped to the door to look out, an’ 


156 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


a tree struck an’ killed him. Father cleared 
away around our house, so there shouldn’t 
he any danger, as soon as he could.” 

‘^And did you live here when it was new 
as that!” asked Ben, whose interest was at 
once aroused by anything that smacked of 
old-time stories. 

^ ‘ To be sure I did. This part of Ohio was 
all woods when I come here. We come all 
the way from Connecticut in a wagon, for 
there wasn’t any other way o’ cornin’ then; 
my father drove a ‘ spike team,’ that is, a 
horse ahead of a yoke of oxen; we brought 
what housen goods we could in the wagon, 
an ’ was forty days on the way. There wasn ’t 
a family in two miles at first, an’ nights we 
used to hear the wolves howlin’ ’round the 
house.” 

‘‘And how did you feel?” asked Posey 
breathlessly. 

The old lady laughed. “I was some 
scared along at first, though we hadn’t no 
great call to be afraid o’ them, it was the 
sheep an’ young cattle they was after. Why, 
along the first o’ father’s keepin’ sheep he 
had to shut ’em up every night in a high pen; 


A STORM, AND A SHELTER 


157 


an’ after neighbors got so thick we had a 
school a bear caught a pig one day, right in 
sight o’ the schoolhonse.” 

‘‘What did yon do?” questioned Ben. 

“Oh, some of the boys ran for Mr. James, 
who lived nearest. He came with his gun, 
but the bear got away.” 

“I wish I could have lived in those days,” 
and Ben gave a long-drawn sigh over the 
safe, commonplace period in which his lot 
had been cast. 

“I think myself mehhy we took more com- 
fort then,” the old lady agreed with fond 
retrospection. “We spun an’ wove all the 
cloth we had; the shoemaker came around 
from house to house to make the shoes — 
‘ whippin’ the cat,’ they called it ; when a deer 
was killed all the neighbors had a share of 
the venison, cooked before the big fireplace. 
To he sure, there were some things that 
wasn’t so pleasant. I remember once we 
went without shoes till into December ’cause 
the shoemaker couldn’t get around before; 
an’ another time father went to mill — twenty 
miles through the woods it was — he had to 
wait three days for his grist to he ground; 


158 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


we hadn’t a mite o’ flonr or meal in the house, 
an’ mother sifted some bran to get the finest 
an’ made it into bran bread. I tell you, the 
hoys an’ girls o’ to-day hain’t much idee o’ 
them times,” 

She paused and looking at her listeners 
asked Ben abruptly, ‘‘Is this your sister?” 

Posey’s heart went pit-a-pat, but Ben an- 
swered promptly, “No, ma’am, but she 
wanted to go my way, so I’m giving her a 
ride.” 

She nodded. “I thought you didn’t favor 
one another.” 

At that moment the slamming of a blind in 
an adjoining room called the old lady away 
for a moment, and Posey seized the oppor- 
tunity to whisper to Ben, “She looks so nice 
and kind, do you suppose she would let me 
live with her?” 

“Can’t say,” he whispered back, “but it 
won’t do any harm to ask her.” 

So when she returned, bringing a plate of 
seed cookies for her guests, Posey hesitat- 
ingly made the request. 

“La, child, I don’t live alone,” was the 
smiling answer. “My daughter Manda, an’ 


A STORM, AND A SHELTER 


159 


Henry Scott, her husband, have lived with 
me ever since my husband died. Not that I 
couldn’t live alone,” she added quickly, ^Hor 
though I’m seventy-five I hold my age pretty 
well, an’ chore about a considerable. The 
reason I’m alone to-day is that Henry’s 
mother is here on a visit. She’s one o’ them 
wimmen that’s always on the go, an’ to-day 
there wa’n’t no hold up but they must go over 
to see Manda’s cousin Jane. They wanted 
me to go with ’em, but I said no, I wasn’t 
gwine joltin’ off ten mile as long as I had a 
comfortable place to stay in. When folks 
got to my age home was the best place for 
’em, and I was gwine to stay there, ’ ’ and she 
gave a chirruping little laugh. 

‘‘Henry’s mother is younger ’n I be — three 
years, five months an’ fifteen days younger, 
but she don’t begin to be so spry. Has to 
have a nap every day; an’ she’s got eight dif- 
ferent medicines with her, an ’ what she don ’t 
take she rubs on. It keeps her pretty busy 
a takin’ an’ a rubbin’ on,” and she chuckled 
again at what evidently seemed to her very 
amusing in one younger than herself. 

“How old be you?” she asked, her mind 


160 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


coining back from Henry’s mother to Posey, 
who was waiting with wondering eagerness. 

‘‘I shall be fourteen in December.” 

‘‘You ain’t very big of your age.” 

“But I’m real strong,” urged Posey, who 
experienced a sudden sense of mortification 
that she was not larger. 

“You look as though you might be,” and 
the old lady looked over her glasses at the 
well-knit, rounded little figure. “Where 
have you been livin’?” 

‘ ‘ Some fifteen miles from here, ’ ’ answered 
Posey, who felt that exact information would 
not be prudent. “But I couldn’t stay there 
any longer,” she hastily added, “and as I 
haven’t any father or mother, I’d like to 
find some nice people who wanted a girl to 
live with and help them. ’ ’ 

“I really wish I knew of such a place for 
you, but Mandy, my daughter, has all the 
family she can see to ; and none of the neigh- 
bors needs any one. But I dare presume 
you won’t have no trouble in findin’ some 
one who wants just such a little girl.” So 
the old lady cheerfully dismissed the subject 
without dreaming how absolutely homeless 


A STORM, AND A SHELTER 


161 


she really was; and as the storm had now 
passed over filled both their hands with cook- 
ies and with a smiling face watched the tin- 
wagon on its way again. 


CHAPTER XII 


A PAKTING OF WAYS 

For a while Ben and Posey rode along 
almost in silence over the roads beaten smooth 
and clean by the heavy shower, while the way- 
side ditches were still noisy little rills, and 
the trees shook down showers of raindrops 
with every passing breeze. 

Posey, in spite of herself, could not help 
a sorrowful feeling of discouragement at the 
failure of her first effort at home-finding. 
Not so much for the refusal itself, though 
she felt that to live with such a cheery old 
lady would be quite delightful, as the fear 
that other attempts might be equally use- 
less. 

Ben, flicking his big bay horse softly with 
the tassel of his whip, was evidently in a 
brown study. At last he turned to Posey, 
saying, ^HVe been thinking what you had 
better do. I canT take you home with me — 
as I wish I could, for really I haven’t any 
162 


A PARTING OF WAYS 


163 


home except as Uncle John gives me one, and 
that’s forty miles from here and I don’t 
expect to get there for a month or more; 
besides the honse is so full that Annt Eunice 
hardly knows where to put us all as it is.” 

^‘Oh, I didn’t expect you to make a home 
for me!” cried Posey. 

^^I’d like to. But last spring the man 
whose route it was on was sick, so I went 
over into Farmdale for one trip, and there 
I saw such a nice old lady, nicer if anything 
than the one we just stopped with. I guess 
she took a fancy to me, for she wanted to 
know if I had a sister. Said she wished she 
could find a real nice little girl to live with 
her, and asked me if I knew of any one I 
thought would suit her. Now, Byfield’s the 
next town, and Farmdale is only seven miles 
from there, and I believe I’ll drive over there 
with you to-night and see her. Maybe I 
can pick up some rags on the way, and I 
know Mr. Bruce won’t care when I tell him 
about it.” 

Posey at once agreed, and the faint anxiety 
that had begun to rise in her mind as to what 
she would do when it came night was at once 


164 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


swept away, for in Ben Pancost and his abil- 
ity she had unlimited faith. 

When they reached the straggling little 
railroad station of Byfield, Ben said he must 
go to the store and take on what paper rags 
had been gathered in since his last trip, and 
he left Posey to wait for him at Byfield’s 
one small hotel while he did this. 

It seemed to Posey that Ben was gone a 
long, long time, and when at last he appeared 
it was with a very sober face. ^‘I’m awful 
sorry, Posey,” were his first words, ‘^but 
when I got over to the store I found a tele- 
gram there from Mr. Bruce to come to Cleve- 
land as quick as I could. He’s sent for me 
that way before and I know what it means. 
He’s got an order for rags and hasn’t enough 
on hand to fill it. I just looked at to-day’s 
market report in the paper and it gave paper 
rags as ‘heavy with a downward tendency,’ 
so I suppose Mr. Bruce is afraid of a big 
drop and wants to get his oif at once. I’ve 
agreed with a man here to change horses 
till I come back. It’s four o’clock now and 
with a fresh horse I can get to Cleveland by 
ten or eleven, then the rags can be shipped 


A PARTING OF WAYS 


165 


in the morning, and a day’s delay may make 
a big difference to Mr. Bruce.” 

‘‘I see,” murmured Posey. 

‘‘So you see why I can’t go with you to 
Farmdale, as I was going to. But I’ll tell 
you how I’ve planned it. I’ve agreed with 
the landlady for you to stay here all night, 
and there’s a stage runs to Farmdale to- 
morrow that you can go over in. The worst 
of it is I don’t know the nice old lady’s name 
or where she lives, for she wasn’t in her 
own home when I saw her. But they called 
her ‘aunt’ at the place she was, so they will 
be ^ure to know all about her, and I can tell 
you just where that is. The village is built 
around the prettiest green you ever saw. 
You go up on the west side till you come to 
a story-and-half white house with green 
blinds, and big lilac bushes at the gate; 
there’s a sign over the front door, ‘Millinery 
and Dressmaking,’ so you can’t miss the 
place. 

“There were two ladies there, not young 
or really old, but sort o’ between like, you 
know. They were nice, too. Why, what do 
you think one of them did? I had torn my 


166 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


coat on the wagon and she mended it for me. 
Wasn’t that good? And I know they’ll be 
good to yon. Just tell them I sent you, and 
as soon as I come back I’ll come and see how 
you are getting along. I’m awful sorry 
things have happened this way, but I don’t 
see what else I can do.” 

Ben had talked very fast, and as Posey 
listened she was conscious that a lump was 
rising higher and higher in her throat. “ It ’s 
all right, Ben,” Posey tried to speak with 
forced cheerfulness. ‘^Only it seems as 
though I’d known you always, and I don’t 
quite know what to do without you,” and 
with all her effort her voice trailed off in a 
quiver. 

‘^Why, that’s so,” Ben’s tone was em- 
phatic. ^‘It does seem as though we had al- 
ways known each other, don’t it?” 

‘‘And you’ve been so good to me,” Posey 
continued. “I shall never forget it, Ben, 
never! This has been the happiest day I 
ever knew.” 

“Shucks!” exclaimed Ben, his own voice a 
trifle husky. “I haven’t done anything but 
let you ride on the tin-cart; that wasn’t much, 


A PARTING OF WAYS 


167 


I^m sure. Besides IVe enjoyed it as much 
as you have. ^ ’ 

^^Oh, but you have been good to me,” she 
repeated. ‘^You came to me when I hadn^t 
anybody in the whole world, and I was feel- 
ing so badly that I almost wanted to die. 
Except my mamma nobody in all my life was 
ever so good to me, not even dear Mr. Ha- 
good, and I shall remember it always.” 

‘‘I wish I could have done more for you; 
and here — ” slipping a couple of silver dol- 
lars into her hand — ^4s a little money for 
your stage fare, and anything else you may 
need. IVe settled with the landlady for 
your staying here to-night.” 

shaV^t take it, Ben,” Posey protested, 
as she tried to force the money back. 
‘‘YouVe paid for my dinner, and now for 
to-night, and you have to work hard for your 
money. I shaV’t take it, indeed I sha’n’t. 
I can walk to Farmdale to-morrow as well 
as not.” 

‘^Shucks!” retorted Ben more emphatic- 
ally than before. ‘‘You won’t do anything 
of the kind. Besides I’m going to adopt you 
for my sister, and brothers ought to take 


168 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


care of their sisters. When I get a raise 
in my salary I’ll send yon to a fashionable 
boarding school. But I must be off, only I 
feel dreadfully to leave you so.” 

Never mind,” said Posey bravely. 
‘‘You said God took care of me to-day, per- 
haps He will to-morrow.” 

“That’s so,” answered Ben. “You and I’ll 
both ask Him, and I know He will. And 
I’ll he around to Farmdale to see you by 
next week, sure ; so good-by till then. ’ ’ And 
squeezing Posey’s hand till it would have 
brought tears to her eyes had they not been 
there already, he hurried away, while Po- 
sey stood at the window and watched the red 
cart, a grotesque object, with its dangling 
fringe of old rubber boots, the sacks of rags 
piled high on top and hiding from her view 
the driver, as it went down the street 
and slowly lessened in the distance. Then 
she turned away with a sigh, for Ben Pan- 
cost had passed beyond her sight. 

With his going the brightness seemed to 
fade from the day. The fallen leaves of a 
maple before the hotel drifted with a dreary 
little rustle in the rising wind. The floor 


A PARTING OF WAYS 


169 


of tRe room was covered with oilcloth on 
which her chair, whenever she moved it, 
made a mournful sound that increased her 
sense of loneliness. The long dining-room 
looked empty and forlorn when she answered 
the summons to supper and found herself and 
a traveller out of temper, because he had 
missed his train, its only occupants. 

As the dusk deepened, Posey heard the 
merry voices of children in the street, but 
she herself felt strangely old and unchildlike 
with a burden of anxiety resting on her, and 
the memory of trouble and care and per- 
plexity rising like a cloud behind her. A 
kitten came capering into the room; she 
coaxed it to her and tried to cuddle the ball 
of fur in her arms, feeling even that com- 
panionship would be something ; but the 
kitten was of a roving nature and had rather 
have its own frolicsome way than her ten- 
ding. When the kerosene lamp was brought 
in it smoked, and through the dingy chimney 
the big figured paper and the cheap chromos 
on the wall looked more staring than be- 
fore. Posey during her years with Madam 
Sharpe had known a varied experience with 


170 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


the parlors of cheap hotels and boarding- 
houses with their threadbare carpets and 
shabby, broken-springed furniture, but she 
was sure that she never saw so cheerless a 
room as that of the Byfield hotel. 

No doubt after all Posey had been through 
in the last twenty-four hours a reaction was 
sooner or later bound to come. So it was 
not strange that she should suddenly have 
become conscious of being very, very tired, 
as well as exceedingly sleepy, and before 
eight o’clock she asked to be shown to her 
room, where she soon fell asleep with Ben 
Pancost’s silver dollars clasped close in her 
hand against her cheek. For those dollars 
stood to her not only as actual value, but 
as kindliness and helpfulness, the sole friend- 
ship she had to rest on a friend near and 
human, while that of God, whose care for the 
morrow she had duly remembered to ask, 
seemed to her heavy little heart as far off 
and mysterious. 

When Posey woke the next morning after 
a long, dreamless sleep, she started up as if 
expecting to hear Mrs. Hagood’s voice call- 
ing her, and a dog she heard barking outside 


A PARTING OF WAYS 


171 


she thought for a moment was Rover. But 
her unfamiliar surroundings quickly brought 
to her all that had happened, and she lay 
back on her pillow with a feeling of surprise 
that it should all be true. wonder what 
will happen to me to-day, and where I shall 
be to-night ? ’ ’ she said to herself. ^ ^ But Ben 
said he knew God would take care of me,’’ 
and Ben’s faith became her confidence. 

With morning, too, the world looked de- 
.cidedly brighter than it had the evening be- 
fore ; she had a good appetite for her break- 
fast, and when the landlady who served the 
table in person explained that the table 
waiter went away to a dance and hadn’t come 
back, and the cook was sick that morning, 
and she had everything to do and didn’t 
know which way to turn, Posey at once of- 
fered to help. ‘‘The stage doesn’t go for a 
long time yet, and I’d just as soon wash the 
dishes as not,” and following out into the 
kitchen she was soon plunged in a pan of 
foamy suds. 

“You are good help,” was the landlady’s 
comment. “My husband’s dead and I have 
the whole business to see to, and the profit 


172 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


isn’t mucli, but I’ll give you a dollar a week 
to wash disbes if you’ll stay with me.” 

Posey hesitated ; work was what she 
wanted, hut the landlady’s voice had a sharp 
accent and there were fretty wrinkles be- 
tween her eyes. promised to go to an 
old lady in Farmdale, ’ ’ she answered after a 
moment, ‘^but if I don’t get a place there I’ll 
come back to you.” 

Posey had taken pains to shake and brush 
out the dust and all she could of the disorder 
from her clothes. Before stage time she re- 
packed the contents of her bundle, and beg- 
ging a newspaper and string made it into a 
neat looking package, and when the stage 
started out it was a tidy little figure that oc- 
cupied a corner of the back seat. The ride 
to Farmdale through the pleasant country 
roads was all too short for Posey, who once 
more found herself among strangers, a sol- 
itary waif. 


CHAPTER XIII 

A DOOR OPENS 


The stage stopped at the business end of 
Farmdale. Around three sides of a sandy 
square were grouped the village hotel, the 
post-office, and its few stores and shops; on 
the fourth side this square opened on a long 
stretch of velvety green turf, around which, 
set in deep yards, surrounded by trees, and 
embowered in shrubbery, were the comforta- 
ble, well-ordered village homes. In the cen- 
tre of this green, and midway its length a 
fountain was falling into a circular stone 
basin and from that flowing into a stone 
watering-trough, where a white horse with 
a barefooted boy on its hack was drinking. 
Beyond the fountain the ground rose 
slightly and crowning this gentle swell three 
white churches set side by side lifted their 
spires against the blue sky. 

Posey walked slowly along the maple- 
shaded path, with bright colored leaves above 
173 


174 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


her and bright colored leaves rustling under 
her feet, charmed with the peaceful air, the 
quiet beauty, and looking carefully for a 
house to answer Ben Pancost’s description. 
It was not long till she saw it — a modest 
white house with green blinds, the walls al- 
most covered with climbing roses and honey- 
suckles, while over the front door hung the 
sign, its gilt lettering somewhat faded by 
time and storms, 

MILLINEKY AlTD DEESSMAKING. 

A great lilac bush stood on each side of 
the small white gate by which she entered, 
while syringas, flowering quince, and thickets 
of roses gave promise of springtime bloom. 
The narrow, stone-flagged walk that led to 
the side door was fringed with flowers, and 
ran along the edge of a grassy bank or low 
terrace, below which were more flower beds 
bordered with China pinks, besides homelier 
beds of garden vegetables, while under shel- 
tering rows of currant bushes a flock of white 
chickens rolled in the dirt at their ease. Be- 
yond the house lay an orchard, and the side 
porch at which the walk ended was shaded by 


A DOOR OPENS 


175 


a great grapevine heavy with purple clus- 
ters. A Maltese cat, sunning itself in sleepy 
content on the steps, roused as she came up 
and rubbed against her with a friendly purr. 
Over all the sunny little homestead rested 
an air of thrift, order, peace, that filled 
Posey with a sense of restfulness; why she 
could hardly have told. 

Her knock on the green-paneled door was 
answered by Miss Silence Blossom, one of 
the two whom Ben Pancost had described as 
‘^not young, or really old,’’ but with the 
brightness of youth still lingering in her 
eyes and her smile. The room into which she 
led Posey was large and sunny with win- 
dows facing the south. In one corner was an 
open sewing machine from which she had 
evidently just risen. In another corner 
stood a square table covered with boxes of 
flowers and ribbons beside which trimming 
a bonnet sat Mrs. Patience Bird, a younger 
sister of Miss Silence, her sweet, gentle face 
touched by a shade of sadness, reflected in 
the mourning dress she still wore for the 
young husband whose picture was in the lit- 
tle pin at her throat. Behind the low chair 


176 


NOBODY’S BOSE 


in which she sat was a tall case with long 
glass doors, filled with ribbons, flowers, and 
hats, all in orderly array, for though this 
was the work-room of busy workers there 
was no trace of litter or confusion. 

Mrs. Blossom, the mother, with a strong 
hut kindly face, was watering a stand of 
house plants. She, too, was a widow, hut 
of more than half a lifetime. The years 
when she had gathered her fatherless chil- 
dren around her and, still a young woman, 
taken up a life alone and bravely for herself 
and them had left their lines of energy, de- 
cision, and firmness. And, last of the family 
group, in a large armchair by one of the 
sunny windows with some white knitting in 
her hands, sat an old lady, whose peaceful 
face not less than her drab dress, close white 
cap, and snowy, folded kerchief, told that she 
was of the Quaker faith. 

Posey took the chair oifered her, suddenly 
embarrassed and shy under the gaze of so 
many questioning eyes, and at last stammered 
abruptly, ‘‘Ben said you would know where 
the old lady lived.’’ 


A DOOR OPENS 


177 


‘‘Ben who ; and what old lady T’ demanded 
Miss Silence, who in spite of her name was 
the talker of the family. 

“Why, the nice old lady who wants a girl 
to live with her. And you know Ben; he’s 
the boy who drives the red tin peddler’s 
cart.” 

“I know who she means,” spoke Mrs. Pa- 
tience. “It is the boy who came here last 
summer that Aunt Maria Ames took such a 
fancy to, and asked him if he hadn’t a sister 
to live with her. I think,” to her mother, 
“you and Grandmother were away that day. 
Don’t you remember. Silence, you mended his 
coat for him?” 

By this time Posey had found her tongue. 
“Yes,” she hastened to add, “Ben said you 
did. He said he knew you were the best kind 
of Christians.” 

Mrs. Blossom smiled. “I hope Ben was 
right, though that seems to have been a case 
of judging faith by works.” 

“Well, Ben Pancost knows,” asserted Po- 
sey stoutly. 

“He certainly impressed me as a very good 


178 


NOBODY’S BOSE 


boy,’’ said Miss Silence, ‘‘truthful, frank, 
and manly. And so you wanted to come and 
live with Mrs. Ames 1 ’ ’ 

“Yes, ma’am, Ben was almost sure she 
would let me.” 

“That is too bad, for she has gone to Chi- 
cago to spend the winter with her daughter. ’ ’ 

Posey’s face clouded with dismay. She 
had trusted implicitly to Ben. What should 
she do if his plan for her failed? 

Mrs. Blossom saw the look. “What is 
your name?” she asked. 

“Posey.” 

“And whose Posey?” Mrs. Patience ques- 
tioned looking up from her work with a gentle 
smile. 

“Nobody’s,” was the mournful answer. 

“And where is your home?” continued 
Mrs. Blossom. 

“Nowhere,” answered Posey, a great sense 
of her forlornness rushing over her and filling 
her eyes with tears. 

“Now, see here,” Miss Silence’s tone was 
brisk and incisive; “you want to tell the 
truth. Everybody has a surname and lives 
somewhere.” 


A DOOR OPENS 


179 


‘‘I Rave told the truth/ ^ protested Po- 
sey hotly. ‘‘I haven ^t anybody or any home 
anywhere. ’ ’ 

^^But where have you been living T’ 

Now Posey had gathered from Ben Pan- 
cost’s manner that while he personally ap- 
proved of her running away from Mrs. 
Hagood, he was doubtful of the impression 
it might make on others, and she had re- 
solved to be very discreet and tell as little 
of that part of her story as possible. But 
her indignation at the implication of un- 
truthfulness overmastered her prudence and 
she answered, ^^If you want to know where 
I’ve lived I can tell you. I’ve lived with a 
clairvoyant medium, and I’ve lived at the 
Refuge in Cleveland, and the last place I’ve 
lived was with a Mrs. Hagood in Horsham. ’ ’ 

^^Why, Horsham is twenty miles from 
here.” 

wish it was twenty million miles.” 

‘^But why?” 

‘‘Because,” her voice rising shrill with 
passion, “Mrs. Hagood was horrid to me, 
and I ran away from her, I did; and I don’t 
care who knows it, I don’t; and I’ll never go 


180 


NOBODY’S BOSE 


back to her for anybody, never,’’ her cheeks 
flushing and her eyes flashing through her 
tears. 

‘^In what way was Mrs. Hagood horrid to 
you?” questioned Mrs. Blossom. 

For answer Posey tore open her collar 
and rolled up her sleeves showing the marks 
still visible on her neck and arms. It needed 
now hardly an inquiry to bring out the whole 
story, in which she omitted neither what she 
had said to Mrs. Hagood nor the bite she had 
given her hand. ‘^And I’ll starve and die 
before I’ll go back to her,” she added in con- 
clusion. 

^ ‘It’s a burning shame to treat a child like 
that, I don’t care what she had done!” ex- 
claimed Miss Silence. And Mrs. Patience 
added in her gentle tone, “Poor child! 
wouldn’t you like something to eat?” for 
Mrs. Patience had the idea that children were 
in a perpetual state of hunger. 

“Was this Mrs. Hagood always cruel to 
you?” questioned Mrs. Blossom. 

Posey hesitated a moment. “No, ma’am, 
I guess not. She gave me plenty to eat, but 
she scolded me from morning till night, and 


A DOOR OPENS 


181 


wanted me to work every minute. If she 
wasn^t always crnel she was never kind — 
She paused and looked from face to face — • 
^‘and now I’m away from her I’m going to 
stay away. The landlady at the hotel at By- 
field will give me a dollar a week to wash 
dishes, but I wish you knew of some other 
place where I could live. I’d do everything I 
could to help, and I’d be real good. I’m not 
had always, indeed I’m not.” She did not 
say, ‘‘If I might only stay here,” but her 
wistful eyes expressed the unspoken wish. 

“Silence,” Mrs. Blossom spoke quickly, 
“will you go out in the orchard and get some 
sweet apples to bake ; and Posey can go with 
you. ’ ’ 

“Now, mother,” Miss Silence laid down 
in her lap the work she held, “I don’t think 
it’s quite fair to send the child away while 
you and Grandmother talk her over, for she 
knows as well as I that’s what you would do. 
There’s only one thing 1 shall consent to — 
that she stay here till a suitable place is found 
for her.” 

“Thee will always be the same impulsive, 
impetuous Silence as long as thee lives.” 


182 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


Grandmother Sweet’s face crinkled in a 
smile. Though an attentive listener she had 
not spoken before. She turned to her daugh- 
ter, have nothing to say for my part, 
Elizabeth, that the young girl might not hear, 
indeed that I would not prefer she should 
hear. 

‘‘And in the first place, my dear,” to 
Posey, “thee is not free from blame thyself; 
from thy own words thee has failed in duty 
to one older than thyself, and yielded to 
the angry passion of thine own heart, and 
thus, it well may be, has failed of the lesson 
God meant for thee. For always remember, 
child, God puts us in no place he will not 
give us strength to fill, or sends us no trial 
that will not be for our good if rightly en- 
dured. At the same time if thy story is 
true, and thee has a truthful look, I do not 
think thee has been justly or rightly treated, 
or that thy return would be wise or best. ’ ’ 

Then turning again to her daughter, 
“The leading of the Lord seems to have 
brought her to our door. What is thy mind, 
Elizabeth?” 

“Thee has spoken it exactly,” answered 


A DOOR OPENS 


183 


Mrs. Blossom, who often used the Friends’ 
language in talking with her mother. ‘‘As 
thee says, she seems to have been led to ns, 
and I hope the time will never come when 
any of God’s children find ours a closed 
door.” 

“Oh, if yon will let me stay I’ll do my very 
best!” cried Posey. “Do yon know I said 
yesterday that I didn’t believe God cared 
anything for me, but Ben Pancost said He 
did, that probably God sent him to help me 
then, and that He would take care of me 
again to-day, and I just think He has.” 

‘ ‘ Dear child, ’ ’ and Grandmother Sweet put 
one of her soft, tremulous hands on Posey’s 
head, “God’s love and care is over thee al- 
ways ; never doubt it, even if thee has not the 
outward evidence.” 

“I am going out to Cleveland next week 
for goods,” remarked Mrs. Patience, “and 
I can go out to the Refuge and arrange about 
Posey.” 

Miss Silence nodded. “Yes, and you know 
Cousin Allen Gloin’s wife has a sister in 
Horsham; she will doubtless know of this 
Mrs. Hagood,” 


184 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


Posey lifted her head proudly, hope you 
will see everybody who knows me, and ask 
them all about me, for then you will find that 
I have told the truth.” 

‘^We are not doubting your word,” Miss 
Silence assured her; ‘‘it is on your account 
as well as ours that we want to learn as much 
as possible.” 

“All the same I want you to know that it 
is true, ’ ’ she answered. ‘ ‘ And — ^ ’ hesitating 
a little, “if you know some one in Horsham 
couldn’t I send a word to Mr. Hagood? He 
will worry about me, I know he will, and 
he was always so kind that I wish he could 
know where I am and how good you are to 
let me stay. He won’t tell Mrs. Hagood any- 
thing about it. I am sure he won’t.” 


CHAPTEE XIV 


POSEY BECOMES BOSE 

Thus it was that Posey, who for so long 
had been drifted at the mercy of adverse 
currents found herself, for a time at least, 
in a safe and quiet harbor. Very quickly she 
fell into the simple household ways; she 
washed the dainty old china for Mrs. Blos- 
som ; she dusted the carefully kept rooms ; 
she pulled bastings and whipped edges for 
Miss Silence; she ripped braid and wound 
ribbons for Mrs. Patience, watching her the 
while as with hat-block in lap her deft fingers 
‘‘sewed over’’ a hat or bonnet iuto a difiFer- 
ent shape — for at that time this was part 
of the work of a village milliner; and last 
but by no means least she listened to Grand- 
mother Sweet’s gentle counsels and gentler 
admonitions. While in this atmosphere of 
cheer and kindliness her young heart that 
had known such scant measure of either, ex- 
panded like a flower in the sunshine. 

185 


186 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


From the first time she heard it the name 
Posey had been anything but pleasing to 
Grandmother Sweet’s Quaker ears, and the 
next day after her coming, when she had 
given as full an account as she could of her 
varied life, the old lady began to question 
her. 

‘^And now what is thy real name, my 
child! For surely thy mother never gave 
thee ‘Posey’ for a life name.” 

“I don’t know as I have any other,” an- 
swered Posey in surprise, for it was some- 
thing she had never thought of before. 
“My mother, I can remember, often called 
me ‘Rose,’ and her ‘little Rose,’ but she 
called me ‘Posey,’ too; so did my father and 
the neighbors, and Madam Sharpe, and I 
always supposed that was all the name I 
had. ’ ’ 

“Thee can depend upon it,” was the old 
lady’s decided answer, “ ‘Posey’ was only 
that foolish custom — a nickname — of which I 
cannot approve. 

“And as to thy surname, does thee not 
know that either! It seems anything but 
right that thee should continue to bear — es- 


POSEY BECOMES ROSE 


187 


pecially as it is not thy own, the name of 
that wicked adventuress/’ 

Posey shook her head. ^^You know I was 
so little when my mother and father died, 
and Madam Sharpe called me by her name 
from the first. I think she wanted me to 
forget all I could for fear I might find some 
one who would take me away from her. I 
know whenever I asked her what my name 
was she would say she had forgotten, but I 
didn’t believe her then. Lately, I have tried 
to remember it, but I can’t. I know my 
mother ’s first name was Kate, because I have 
her Bible, and that is the name written in 
it.” 

‘^Will thee let me see it?” 

Posey at once brought the little velvet cov- 
ered Bible, and the book of child verse, now 
decidedly the worse for wear and age. On 
the fly leaf of the Bible was primly written, 
^‘Kate, from Aunt Sarah.” 

In the other book was apparently no writ- 
ing, but after examining it a moment grand- 
mother asked, Silence, will thee bring me a 
damp sponge! If I am not mistaken a leaf 
has been pasted down here.” 


188 


NOBODY ROSE 


The sponge was brought, and the page 
when moistened readily lifted, proving 
Grandmother Sweet’s suspicion correct, and 
revealing to the onlookers, written in a deli- 
cate hand, 

‘‘To Rose Shannon, on her fourth birth- 
day, December 12th.” 

“There!” Grandmother Sweet’s tone was 
triumphant, “now we have thy rightful 
name, and thee shall be Rose to us, as thee 
was to thy mother, ’ ’ and she patted the curly 
brown head. 

“But why do you suppose she pasted the 
leaf down instead of tearing it out?” ques- 
tioned Miss Silence. 

“I think,” replied Posey, or rather Rose, 
“it was because the colored picture on the 
other side of the leaf was a favorite of mine, 
and if it was gone I would be sure to miss 
it.” 

So it was without any purpose of her own, 
or a thought on the part of any one of con- 
cealing her identity, that with the very be- 
ginning of life under new conditions Posey 
Sharpe became Rose Shannon, and, or so it 
seemed to her, with the old name the old life 


POSEY BECOMES ROSE 


189 


also dropped away. Rose was delighted to 
possess a name that was hers by right, that 
was her very own, hut at first it sounded 
strangely unfamiliar, and sometimes she 
failed to recognize it as belonging to herself ; 
but very soon she grew as accustomed to it 
as to the placid round of the Blossom house- 
hold. 

In a short time Mrs. Patience made her 
trip to Cleveland, and made the promised 
call at the Refuge. Here she found that a let- 
ter had been received from Mrs. Hagood, full 
of complaints that Posey was an idle, trouble- 
some, ungrateful girl, who had left her for 
no cause whatever ; but at the same time de- 
manding that she be sent back at once. For 
Mrs. Hagood had supposed, as Rose thought, 
that she would return to the Refuge. Mrs. 
Patience’s account, however, put the matter 
in a very different light. The superintend- 
ent was deeply indignant, and as the Blos- 
soms had friends who were known to him, 
he gladly consented that she should remain 
with them till a more permanent provision 
could be made. 

It was on this one point of Rose’s history. 


190 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


the cause and manner of her leaving Mrs. Ha- 
good, that the Blossoms decided reticence to 
be best. As Mrs. Blossom said, ^‘Mrs. Ha- 
good is a stranger to us, and admitting that 
she was at fault, it seems to me neither kind 
nor right to repeat what might give others an 
unfavorable impression.’^ 

Gentle Grandmother Sweet’s advice to 
Rose was, ^^The best way to keep from speak- 
ing of it is to put it out of thy thoughts, 
through that spirit of forgiveness, which we 
who err so often should always be ready to 
show. ’ ’ 

Not long after Mrs. Patience’s return from 
the city Rose received an offer of a home 
for the winter, with fifty cents a week wages, 
and the privilege of attending school after- 
noons. As she had seldom possessed a cent 
she could call her own this seemed like a 
small fortune; besides, as she had told Ben 
Pancost, she understood more than most of 
her age what it cost to live, and so was the 
quicker to see that with all the Blossoms’ 
generous hospitality, economy was carefully 
considered. For they were far from rich, 
this houseful of women with no outside bread- 


POSEY BECOMES ROSE 


191 


winner to depend on, and with her sturdy, 
independent nature Rose shrank from being 
a burden on them, the more so because of 
their affectionate kindness. Miss Silence 
and Mrs. Patience having taken Rose under 
their wing were unwilling she should go, un- 
less into a permanent home, but Mrs. Blos- 
som held that Rose should decide the ques- 
tion for herself, especially as she would still 
be in the village where they could watch 
over her. While Grandmother Sweet plac- 
idly observed, ‘‘Providence seems to have 
opened the place for Rose, and the openings 
of Providence are usually for some wise pur- 
pose.^’ 

The offer had been most unexpected. 
Miss Fifield had come to Silence Blossom to 
have a dress fitted, and in the familiar con- 
versation which accompanied the process she 
had remarked that she and her sister were 
doing their work themselves as the hired 
girl had gone home sick. “Of course, she 
explained, “we have Ellen Gill in to do the 
washing and ironing and scrubbing; not but 
that we could do it all, for it was my father’s 
boast that his daughters were thoroughly 


192 


NOBODY ROSE 


capable. And they all are but Eudora; she 
will not, and while I’m willing to do my 
share I’m not willing to do mine and other 
people’s too. I don’t believe Eudora would 
soil her hands if her life depended on it. If 
you’ll believe me, Silence Blossom, she has 
gone and made a mop to wash dishes with. 
It makes me sick, it positively does, to see 
her mopping the dishes off, and lifting them 
out with a fork, for fear the dishwater will 
make her hands rough.” And Miss Fifield, 
tall, spare, and angular, who counted all at- 
tempt at personal adornment the sign of a 
weak mind, gave a little sniff of contempt. 

At this moment Rose came into the sitting- 
room to bring Grandmother Sweet a piece o^ 
fresh sponge cake, her first triumph in real 
cake-making under Mrs. Blossom. Miss 
Fifield through the partly open door of the 
bedroom which also served as fitting-room, 
regarded her neat gingham work-apron and 
animated, rosy face with evident approval. 

‘‘Who is that young girl!” she asked. “I 
don’t remember to have ever seen her be- 
fore.” 

“She is Rose Shannon,” Miss Silence an- 


POSEY BECOMES ROSE 


193 


swered as well as she could with her mouth 
full of pins. ‘^She came to Farmdale with 
the idea that she could live with Aunt Maria 
Ames, and is staying with us for the pres- 
ent.’^ 

Miss Fifield prided herself on her prompt 
decisions, and the idea at once occurred to 
her that such a tidy little handmaid would 
be pleasant and useful to have. 

^Mf she wants to she can come to us; we 
will give her a home, and something be- 
sides.’’ 

Silence Blossom was measuring Miss 
Fifield ’s bony arm for the sleeve. don’t 
know,” her voice dubious; ‘‘Rose was plan- 
ning to go to school when it opened next 
term. ’ ’ 

“I think we could manage for her to go 
afternoons; there isn’t much to do after din- 
ner. I suppose,” she added, “that Eudora 
and Brother Nathan will object. They never 
agree on anything only in opposing me, but 
what I undertake I intend to carry through.” 

But for once Miss Fifield was mistaken. 
Miss Eudora heartily agreed with the plan. 
She could put on gloves to sweep, and cake 


194 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


and pastry making were something any lady 
might do with dignity ; but dish-washing even 
with the aid of a mop, she viewed with hor- 
ror. Furthermore, her sister refused to 
wash the dishes a day over half the time. 

Squire Nathan Fifield, the middle-aged 
brother who with the two middle-aged sisters 
made up the Fifield family, caustically re- 
marked that he should think two able-bodied 
women could do the work for themselves and 
one man, but if they couldn’t they would have 
to settle the matter their own way. ^ ^ Only, ’ ’ 
he warned them, ‘4t is very likely this is the 
child of low-bred foreigners, and if she turns 
out to be a little liar, and a thief, I want you 
to remember that it was you that brought her 
here, not me.” 

But the sisters, noways daunted by this 
foreboding, offered Rose the place and, as we 
have seen, she accepted the offer. 


CHAPTER XV 

AT THE FIFIELDS’ 

The Pifields were the oldest family in 
Farmdale, and lived in the most pretentious 
house. Rose had greatly admired the old 
home with its high-pillared porch set behind 
tall hedges of prim cedar, and a view of the 
interior only increased the feeling. To her 
eyes the claw-footed tables and tall bedsteads 
with canopy tops were most imposing; and 
the dimly lighted, seldom used parlor with 
its real lace curtains, its carpet laid in great 
wreaths of roses, its gilt-framed mirror, and 
its damask upholstered, mahogany furniture, 
was a really magnificent apartment, includ- 
ing as it did the family portraits, and Miss 
Eudora’s girlish etforts at painting on vel- 
vet. 

Rose’s position in the family had been the 
subject of some discussion, for Eudora Fi- 
field had all her life sighed for a maid ar- 
rayed in a white cap and apron, and it had 
195 


196 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


been one of her numerous grievances that of 
the array of independent spirited help who 
had filed in and out of the Fifield kitchen one 
and all had flatly refused to conform to such 
usage. 

‘‘But Rose/’ she argued, “has been 
brought up in a city, where the manners of 
the lower classes are so different. Why, 
when I visited Aunt Morgan in Albany, her 
servants treated me with a deference you 
never see here. Her parlor-maid always 
brought in the callers’ cards and the letters 
on a salver ; perhaps she would be willing to 
do that.” 

Jane Fifield gave a snort, “As long as 
Nathan brings your letters in his coat pocket 
and hands them to you, and we haven’t a 
caller once a month, I think you won’t have 
much use for a salver. Besides the Blos- 
soms make her one of the family, and Mrs. 
Blossom particularly said that she should 
never consent to her going to any place 
where she would not be taken an interest 
in, but simply thought of as a little drudge.” 

Miss Eudora drew a little sigh at the van- 
ishing of the cap and salver, but quickly 


AT THE FIFIELDS^ 


197 


caugM herself as she remembered the dish- 
washing. ‘‘Well,’’ she admitted, “I suppose 
it’s better to concede some points than not 
have her come at all.” 

“I wonder,” suddenly spoke Silence Blos- 
som as she sat basting the facing on a skirt 
the day after Eose left, “how Eose is getting 
on at the Fifields’, and if she has heard any- 
thing yet about Eudora’s visit to Albany? 
I don’t believe I’ve seen her any time since 
that she hasn’t made some reference to it. 
I have often wondered what she would have 
done if she hadn’t made that visit.” 

“But you know,” urged Mrs. Patience, 
“she and Jane both live such monotonous 
lives, with hardly an interest outside them- 
selves, how can they help but go over the same 
thing again and again?” 

“I can tell one thing that would have hap- 
pened if Eudora had not made that Albany 
visit,” remarked Mrs. Blossom, who from 
an adjoining room had overheard the con- 
versation, “she would have been a happier 
woman to-day. She came back from that 
taste of city life completely out of tune with 


198 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


everytliing and everybody in Farmdale, and 
she has never got in tune since.’’ 

am afraid,” observed Grandmother 
Sweet placidly, ‘‘that thee is sitting in judg- 
ment on thy neighbors.” 

“La, Grandmother,” and Miss Silence’s 
brisk, heartsome laugh rippled out, “a body 
can’t help having opinions, though I don’t al- 
ways express mine outside the family. And 
you know what we said of Jane and Eudora 
was true.” 

“I know,” admitted Grandmother Sweet 
with a sigh, “though we ought to look even 
at truth with the eyes of charity. But I have 
a hope that the coming of a fresh young life, 
like Rose’s, into the Fifield home, if only for 
a season, will bring a fresh interest and 
brightness with it.” 

As for Rose, she had been but a little while 
with the Fifields till she began to realize the 
difference between that and the Blossoms. 
Especially was she quick to notice the petty 
friction, the note of jarring discord, that 
made up the atmosphere at the Fifields’. 
What one wanted another was sure to object 


AT THE FIFIELDS^ 


199 


to, what one said was immediately disputed; 
the sisters nagged Mr. Nathan, and he in turn 
nagged his sisters. No doubt at heart they 
loved each other, hut the delicate considera- 
tion for each other’s wishes, and the gentle 
courtesy of affection, that so brightened the 
Blossom home was wholly absent here. 

Another thing she could not but see was the 
prevailing tone of discontent. Though the 
lives of Miss Fifield and Miss Eudora were 
much easier than those of Miss Silence and 
Mrs. Patience, the one was always complain- 
ing of the dullness of Farmdale, and the 
other making bitter reflections on life in gen- 
eral. Had Eose come directly from Mrs. 
Hagood’s all this might have escaped her 
notice, but her stay in the white cottage with 
its sweet-spirited inmates had given her a 
glimpse of a different life, an ideal that would 
always linger with her. 

As the two houses were not the length of 
the green apart Eose was a frequent visitor 
at the Blossoms’. ‘‘Did your plants freeze 
last night?” she asked as she came in one 
afternoon. “Miss Eudora lost some of her 
very prettiest ones. She says it was be- 


200 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


cause Mr. Nathan didn’t fix the fire right, 
and he says it was because she didn’t put the 
window down tight. They were quarreling 
over it when I came away, and yesterday they 
disputed all day whether the meat bill came 
in Tuesday or Wednesday.” 

There, there, Eose,” interrupted Mrs. 
Blossom, “you are a member of the Fifield 
family now, and have no right to repeat or 
we to listen to anything you may see or hear 
there. ’ ’ 

Grandmother Sweet laid down her knitting, 
“As thee goes through life, Eose, thee will 
find many people whose lives seem not to be 
ordered by the law of love ; at such times al- 
ways remember that silence is not only the 
part of prudence but of true charity. At the 
same time thee can learn to avoid the mis- 
takes thee sees others make.” 

“Well,” Eose spoke with emphasis, “I 
will try to avoid the mistake of squabbling 
all the time over trifles — ^I’m not saying that 
any one does so, you know, and when I get to 
be an old lady I’m going to be as gentle and 
lovely as Grandmother Sweet,” and she gave 
her a hug and a kiss. 


AT THE FIFIELDS’ 


201 


On her part Eose had gone to the Fifields’ 
with the firm resolve to do her very best. 
On her first coming to the Blossoms’, while 
her nerves were still keyed up in a tension 
of excitement, little had been said to her in 
regard to the manner of her leaving Mrs. 
Hagood. But after she had calmed down 
to her normal self Mrs. Blossom had talked 
to her very seriously of the danger of yield- 
ing to passion and impulse, and had shown 
her that in spite of all she had to endure 
what trouble she might easily have brought 
on herself, and how much worse off she might 
have been because of her hasty action. So 
that Eose instead of thinking it a very fine, 
brave act to have run away, as she was at 
first inclined, began to feel that it was some- 
thing to regret, and be ashamed of, and be- 
cause of which she must do exceedingly well 
indeed, to win and hold a high opinion. 

As Eose was neat and deft, and above all 
anxious to please, she soon became quite a 
favorite with the two middle-aged Fifield sis- 
ters, and Miss Eudora inclined to make a 
confidante of her. 

‘^So you have lived in cities most of your 


202 


NOBODY’S BOSE 


lifeT’ slie said one morning as Eose was 
dusting her room. 

‘‘Yes, but I like the country better.” 

“You doT^ exclaimed Miss Eudora, paus- 
ing with a curl half brushed, for, unlike her 
sister, she atfected the willowy, the languish- 
ing; she liked garments that flowed, ribbons 
that fluttered, and still framed her little 
wrinkled face in the curls that had been the 
pride of her girlhood. 

“Now, I think it is perfectly delightful to 
live in a city. I spent a winter in Albany, 
with my Aunt Morgan some years ago. 
What a winter that was — ” and she clasped 
her hands, “one round of gayety and amuse- 
ment. Aunt made a large party for me, I 
shall have to show you a piece of the dress 
I wore. Aunt said she was proud of me 
that night, and I’m sure,” with a little sim- 
per, “I had compliments enough. I sup- 
pose,” and she gave her grey curls a toss, 
“it’s my own fault that I’m not living in 
Albany to-day.” 

“If you liked it so well why didn’t you 
stay?” asked Eose. 

“When a young girl has the admiration I 


AT THE FIFIELDS’ 


203 


had, she doesn’t always know what she does 
want. But I can tell you I made quite an im- 
pression on Some One that evening.” 

‘‘How did you look then?” Eose was try- 
ing to imagine Miss Eudora as a young girl. 

‘ ‘ Oh, just as I do now, ’ ’ with a complacent 
glance in her mirror. “I haven’t changed 
as some people do. Not long ago I met a 
friend — ^well, an old admirer, and he said he 
would like to know what I did to keep my- 
self so young; that I didn’t look any older 
than I did when he first knew me. I think 
my hair may have something to do with that ; 
curls do have a youthful effect. That’s the 
reason, I believe, Jane is always wanting me 
to put mine back. 

“Jane,” and she sank her voice to a whis- 
per, “was always plain, and never received 
the admiration, or was the favorite with gen- 
tlemen I was, and it has always made her 
jealous of me. But I’m fond of my curls,” 
giving them a shake. “Why, I even had a 
poem written on them once, and I sha’n’t put 
them up, at least not till I begin to grow 
old.” 

Eose listened in amazement. She was sure 


204 


NOBODY^S ROSE 


Miss Silence was younger than Miss Eudora, 
her hair was not grey, nor her face marked 
with such little fine lines, and neither she nor 
Mrs. Patience ever talked like that. It was 
all very queer, and most of all that Miss Eu- 
dora could fancy that she looked young. 

“You were a long time doing the chamber- 
work,’^ Miss Fifield remarked when Rose 
went downstairs. Miss Fifield was in the 
kitchen baking, her scant house dress cling- 
ing to her angular figure, and her grey hair 
drawn hack with painful tightness. 

Rose noted the contrast between the two 
sisters as she answered, “Miss Eudora was 
talking to me.” 

“What about?” a trifle sharply. 

Rose hesitated slightly. “Several things; 
her visit to the city for one.” 

“I’ll warrant. Perhaps you found it in- 
teresting, but when you have heard the same 
story twenty-seven years, as I have, twenty- 
seven years this winter, it will get to be a 
weariness of the flesh; that and her lovers.” 
She shot a keen glance at Rose, who could not 
help a giggle. 

Miss J ane Fifield shook the flour from her 


AT THE FTFIELDS^ 


205 


hands with energy. ‘‘I used to hope that 
Eudora would grow sensible sometime, but 
IVe about given it up. One thing I am 
thankful for, that there is something inside 
of my head, and not all put on the outside ! ^ ’ 
and she shut the oven door with a force that 
threatened danger to the lightness of the 
pound cake she was baking. 


CHAPTER XVI 


UNDEE A CLOUD 

Rose had been a few weeks at the Fifields, 
long enough to learn the family ways, so that 
Miss Fifield felt she could leave home for a 
long-planned visit. It was a stormy day, 
and Mrs. Patience suddenly exclaimed, ‘^I 
wonder who can be coming this way in such 
a hurry ^ Why, I believe — ^yes, it is Rose, 
running as fast as she can. I hope Eudora 
is not sick.’’ 

Almost as she spoke the door opened and 
Rose rushed in, snow-powdered and breath- 
less; her hat blown partly off, her face wet 
with tears as well as snow flakes, and her 
voice broken and thick with sobs, as without 
giving time for any questions she burst out : 

‘Wou said it was a leading of Providence 
for me to go to the Fifields’. But it wasn’t; 
and he says he will have me put in jail if I 
don’t tell where the money is. And how 
can I tell when I don’t know! Maybe God 
206 


UNDER A CLOUD 


207 


cares for some folks, but I’m sure He doesn’t 
for me or I wouldn’t have so much trouble. I 
wish I was dead, I do!” and flinging herself 
down on the well-worn lounge she buried her 
face in the pillow and burst into a storm of 
sobs. 

What did it all mean! They were equally 
perplexed by the mystery and distressed by 
Eose’s evident grief. Mrs. Patience drew off 
her things and tried to calm her with sooth- 
ing words; Miss Silence brought the cam- 
phor bottle — her remedy for all ills. But 
Eose only cried the harder till Mrs. Blos- 
som kindly, but with the authority that comes 
of a calm and self-controlled nature, said, 
^‘Eose, you must stop crying, and tell us 
what is the trouble.” 

Then choking back her sobs Eose lifted her 
tear-swollen face and exclaimed, ‘^Oh, Mrs. 
Blossom, Mr. Fifield says I have taken a hun- 
dred dollars! A hundred dollars in gold! 
And I don’t know one thing more about it 
than you do, but he won’t believe me, and he 
calls me a thief, and everybody will think I 
am awful, when I want to be good, and was 
trying so hard to do my best. What shall I 


208 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


doT’ and she wrung her hands with a ges- 
ture of utter despair. 

Further questioning at last brought a con- 
nected story, from which it appeared that 
Nathan Fifield had a hundred dollars in gold, 
that from some whim he had put for safe 
keeping in the parlor stove. That morning, 
going around the house to tie up a loose vine, 
he had glanced through the parlor window 
and seen Rose at the stove with the door 
open. And when, his suspicion aroused, he 
had looked for the money it had been to find 
it gone, and at once had accused Rose of the 
theft. 

‘^And he says I showed guilt when I saw 
him,” Rose wailed, ‘‘and I did start, for I 
was frightened to see a face looking in at the 
window, and with the snow on the glass I 
didn’t know at first who it was.” 

“But what were you in the parlor, and at 
the stove for?” questioned Mrs. Blossom. 

“I was dusting the front hall and the par- 
lor. Miss Fifield sweeps the parlor once a 
month and I dust it every week, though I 
don’t see the need, for those are all the times 
anybody ever goes into it. Some feathers 


UNDER A CLOUD 


209 


came out of the duster, it’s old and does shed 
feathers, and I had opened the stove door to 
throw them in. I didn’t know there was ever 
any money in a little leather bag in there ; I 
never dreamed of such a thing. And if I had 
1 shouldn’t have touched it. Madam Sharpe 
always trusted me with her purse, and I 
never took a penny from her. I’m not a 
thief, if he does say that I am. But they 
won’t believe me. Miss Eudora is just as 
certain, and I shall have to go to jail, for I 
can’t tell where the money is.” 

^‘Poor child!” and Grandmother Sweet 
stroked the head that had gone down in Mrs. 
Patience’s lap. ^‘It is borne on my mind,” 
and she glanced around the little group, ^ ‘ that 
Rose is wholly innocent, and that mindful of 
her youth and inexperience it were well for 
some of us to see Neighbor Fifield if an ex- 
planation of the mystery cannot he found. 

‘‘No,” with a wave of her hand, as both of 
her granddaughters made a motion to rise, 
“Silence, thee is apt to he hasty and might 
say more than was seemly; and Patience, 
thee inclines to he timid, and might not say 
as much as was needful. Thy mother is the 


210 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


one to go ; she has both prudence and cour- 
age.’^ 

‘‘Oh, how good you are to me!’’ Rose ex- 
claimed. “And never so good as now! I 
thought you would believe me, I just felt it 
would kill me if you didn’t, and now that I 
know you do I won’t be afraid of anything.” 

Mrs. Blossom was already wrapping her- 
self in her cloak. “Come, Rose, put on your 
things ; the sooner this is sifted the better, ’ ’ 
and Rose, as many another had done before 
her, felt a new comfort and strength in Mrs. 
Blossom’s strength. 

They found Mr. Fifield and his sister 
hardly less excited than Rose. “You can- 
not regret, Mrs. Blossom, any more than I 
do, this most distressing occurrence,” and 
Mr. Nathan rubbed his flushed bald head with 
his red silk handkerchief. “I would rather 
have given ‘the money twice over than have 
had it happen. But I must say that it is no 
more than I expected when my sisters per- 
sisted, against my judgment, in bringing into 
the house a girl of whose ancestors they knew 
nothing, and who most likely is the child of 
some of the foreign paupers who are flooding 


UNDEB A CLOUD 


211 


our shores. I’m sorry, though not surprised, 
that it has ended as it has.” 

Mr. Nathan was really troubled and sorry, 
as he said, but he could not help a spark of 
self-satisfaction that he had been proven in 
the right and his sisters in the wrong. As 
for Miss Eudora, keenly mortified at the turn 
matters had taken, her former friendliness to 
Eose only increased her present indigna- 
tion. 

^‘It’s not only the loss of the money,” she 
exclaimed, ‘‘but the ingratitude of it, after 
all our kindness to her, and I gave her my 
pink muffler ; she never could have done what 
she has if she had not been really hardened.” 

“But what proof have you that she took the 
money?” asked Mrs. Blossom. “As you 
say she is a stranger to us all, a friendless, 
homeless orphan, whose condition is a claim 
to our charity as well as our generosity.” 

“Proof,” echoed Mr. Nathan. “Pretty 
plain proof I should call it, and I’ve served 
three terms as Justice of the Peace. Last 
Saturday the money was safe in its place of 
concealment. This morning I surprised her 
there and her confusion on discovery was 


212 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


almost evidence enough of itself. When I 
look for the package it is gone, and during 
this time not a soul outside the immediate 
family has been in the house. I regret the 
fact, but every circumstance points to her as 
the guilty one.” 

‘‘For all that,” Mrs. Blossom’s voice was 
calmly even, “I believe there is some mis- 
take. At the Refuge they told Patience they 
had always found her truthful and honest, 
and while she was with us we never saw any- 
thing to make us doubt that she was per- 
fectly trusty. I did not even know of her 
meddling with what she ought not to. ’ ’ 

“Oh, she’s a sly one,” and Mr. Nathan 
rubbed his head harder than before. “She 
has taken us all in — and that includes myself, 
and inclines me still more to the belief that 
this is not her first offence; and also to the 
opinion that she should be promptly dealt 
with.” 

“At the same time I hope,” urged Mrs. 
Blossom, “that you will do nothing hastily. 
Imprisonment is a terrible thing for a young 
girl like Rose, and might blast her whole 
life. Time makes many things clear, and it 


UNDER A CLOUD 


213 


is always better to err on the side of mercy 
than of justice.’^ 

‘‘Certainly, certainly. And I do not 
know,” lowering his voice so it might not 
reach Rose, “that I should really send her 
to jail; but the law — ” and he waved his 
hand with his most magisterial air, “the law 
must be a terror to evil-doers. If not, what 
is law good for? We might as well not have 
any, and my social as well as my official po- 
sition demands that I enforce it.” 

“And she deserves to be well punished, 
if ever any one did.” Miss Eudora gave an 
indignant shake to her curls as she spoke. 
“And I was just thinking of giving her the 
blue cashmere I had when I went to Albany. 
Jane is always complaining of what she calls 
my ‘shilly-shally’ ways, and finding fault 
with my lack of decision, and I feel that at 
whatever cost to myself I must be firm in 
this. Though nobody knows what a shock it 
has been to my nerves. ’ ’ 

“Besides,” triumphantly added Mr. Na- 
than Fifield, who felt that he was on the de- 
fensive before Mrs. Blossom, and holding up 
as he spoke an old-fashioned, richly chased 


214 


NOBODY ROSE 


gold locket, ‘‘here is further evidence. 
While Rose was gone Eudora made an ex- 
amination of her effects and this is what she 
found concealed in a pincushion. Now I 
leave it to you if it looks reasonable that a 
child in her position would have a valuable 
trinket like that ; or if she had, would keep it 
hidden r’ 

When they entered the house Mrs. Blos- 
som had told Rose to stay in another room, 
hut through the partly opened door she 
caught a glimpse of the locket as it swung 
from Mr. Nathan’s fingers. 

“That is mine!” she cried, darting in. 
“My very own, and it was my mother’s. 
What right have you with it, I should like to 
know? And why isn’t it stealing for you to 
go and take my things?” 

“Hush, Rose!” Mrs. Blossom reproved. 
And then her faith in Rose a little shaken 
in spite of herself, “If the locket is yours, 
as you say, why did you never tell us about 
it ? And why did you hide it so ? ” 

“Why, I never once thought of it,” she 
answered, looking frankly up at Mrs. Bios- 


UNDER A CLOUD 


215 


som. don’t think the locket is pretty at 
all, it is so queer and old-fashioned, and I 
don’t even know whose picture is inside. All 
the reason I care for it is because it was my 
mother’s. And I sewed it up in that pin- 
cushion, which one of the teachers at the 
Eefuge gave me, because I was afraid if Mrs. 
Hagood saw the locket she might take it 
away from me.” 

‘‘I wonder if this could have been her 
mother’s father,” for Mrs. Blossom’s mind 
at once turned to the subject she had thought 
of so often — that of Rose’s family. 

i i TRere was a chain to the locket once, but 
I broke and lost that. I remember that 
mamma used sometimes to let me wear it, and 
it seems to me she said it was Uncle Sam- 
uel’s picture, but I’m not sure.” 

‘‘It certainly is a good face.” And Mrs. 
Blossom held out the open locket to Miss 
Eudora, who as she took it let it drop from 
her fingers that the unwonted excitement had 
made tremulous. In striking the floor a 
spring was pressed to a compartment be- 
hind the picture^ and as Mr. Nathan Fifield 


216 


NOBODY’S EOSE 


stooped to pick it up a piece of closely folded 
paper fell out. 

Mrs. Blossom hastily spread this out, and 
found it the marriage certificate of Kate Jar- 
vis and James Shannon, dated at Fredonia, 
N. Y., some sixteen years before. ‘^Here is 
a clue to Eose’s family,’’ she exclaimed, as 
they all clustered about the bit of time-yel- 
lowed paper, forgetting for the moment the 
cloud that rested so heavily over Eose. 

‘^It surely should be,” responded Mr. Na- 
than. 

shall write to Fredonia at once,” con- 
tinued Mrs. Blossom. ‘‘And as the minis- 
ter whose name is signed may in the mean- 
time have died or moved away, my best course 
would be to write first to the postmaster for 
information, would it not!” 

“That is what I should advise.” Squire 
Nathan was never so happy as when giving 
advice. “It might be well to inclose a letter 
to the minister, and also a copy of the mar- 
riage certificate. If Eose has any relatives 
living she ought to trace them by this. 
Though whether she is likely to prove any 
credit to her family or not is doubtful/’ he 



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UNDER A CLOUD 


217 


added, recalling with a frown the fact that 
she was a suspected criminal. 

have faith in her that she will.’’ Mrs. 
Blossom’s tone was decided. ^‘And if you 
are willing to let matters rest for the present 
I will, if you have no objections, take Rose 
home with me.” 

‘‘I shall be only too glad to have you, for 
my part.” Miss Eudora’s tone was fervent. 
‘‘After what has happened I don’t feel that 
I could endure her in the house another day. ’ ’ 

“And of course I shall consider you re- 
sponsible for her safekeeping,” added Mr. 
Nathan. “She admits that she ran away 
once; she may do so again.” 

“No, I won’t, you need not be afraid.” 
Rose’s voice was trembling, but she held it 
firm. 

“For you understand,” with emphasis, 
“that I am not dropping the matter of the 
missing money, but only, at your request, 
passing it over for the present. I will re- 
peat, however, that if Rose will confess and 
return the money, no one but ourselves shall 
ever know of it. If she does not I shall feel 
jnyself constrained^ much as I may regret the 


218 


NOBODY ROSE 


necessity, to resort to more severe meas- 
ures,’’ and he blew his nose with a great 
flourish of his red silk handkerchief by way 
of emphasis. 


CHAPTEE XVII 


SUNSHINE AGAIN 

So absorbed was Eose in her trouble that 
she took little or no interest in the attempt 
to discover ber family, or the discussions 
that took place in tbe Blossom bonsebold as 
to its probable result. ‘ ‘ I don ’t believe I have 
any relatives,” sbe said indifferently, ‘‘or 
they would bave looked after me when my 
mother and father died. And even if I bave 
they wouldn’t want to own any one accused 
of stealing.” 

That was tbe burden of all ber thoughts; 
sbe woke in tbe morning to a sense of over- 
whelming calamity, and went to sleep at night 
with its pressure heavy on ber heart. When 
Grandmother Sweet had mildly questioned if 
in the discovery of the marriage certificate 
she did not see the hand of Providence, she 
had replied, with the irritability of suffering, 
that she didn’t believe in Providence at all. 

219 


220 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


might,’’ she had added, that money 
could be found; I sha’n’t till then.” 

For to Rose the executioner’s sword had 
not been lifted, only stayed for the time. 
Visions of arrest and imprisonment were 
constantly before her, all the more terrify- 
ing that the vagueness of her knowledge as 
to their realities left ample room for her im- 
agination. ‘^B-Ow can I tell where the money 
is when I don’t know?” was the question she 
repeated over and over. ‘‘And you know 
what he said he would do if I didn’t tell?” 

She refused to go to school for fear her 
schoolmates had heard of her disgrace. She 
cried till she was nearly blind, and fretted 
herself into a fever, till Mrs. Blossom, fear- 
ing she would make herself really sick, talked 
to her seriously on the selfishness as well as 
the harm of self-indulgence, even in grief, 
and the duty as well as the need of self-con- 
trol. 

Rose had never thought of her conduct in 
that light before, and left alone she lay for a 
long time, now thoroughly aroused from her 
morbid self-absorption, and looking herself, 
as it were, fully in the face. The fire crackled 


SUNSHINE AGAIN 


221 


cheerily in the little stove, the sunshine came 
in at the window of the pleasant, low cham- 
ber, on the stand by her bed were a cup of 
sage tea Grandmother Sweet had made for 
her, a glass of aconite Mrs. Patience had 
prepared, and a dainty china howl of lemon 
jelly Miss Silence had brought to tempt if 
possible her appetite. Mute evidence, each 
and all of kindly affection, that touched Eose 
and filled her with a sense of shame that she 
had made such poor return for all that had 
been done for her. 

Eising with a sudden impulse, she went to 
the little glass, pushed hack the tumbled hair 
from her tear-swollen face, and sternly took 
herself to task. ^‘I’m ashamed of you, I am 
indeed, that after you have been taken into 
this home, and cared for, you should be so 
ungrateful as to make every one in it uncom- 
fortable now, because you happen to be in 
trouble ; and should have shown yourself as 
disagreeable, and selfish, and thoughtless as 
you have. Not one of them would have done 
so, you may be sure ; and if you ever expect 
to grow into a woman that people will respect 
and love as they do Grandmother Sweet, or 


222 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


Mrs. Blossom, or Miss Silence, or Mrs. Pa- 
tience, you must learn to control yourself. 
And now, to begin, you must brush your hair, 
bathe your eyes, go downstairs and do as you 
ought to do. I know it will be pretty hard, 
but you must do it.’’ 

It was hard. With a morbid self-con- 
sciousness that every one could not but know 
of her trouble she had hidden, shrinking from 
the village folk who so often came in; she 
was so weak that as she crossed the room 
she had to put her hand against the wall to 
steady her steps ; and now that she was mak- 
ing the effort to rouse herself she began to 
see the luxury it had been to be perfectly 
wretched. But Rose resisted the temptation 
to throw herself again on the bed ; she crept 
steadily, if somewhat weakly, downstairs, 
and made a brave attempt at smiling. With 
a guilty sense of all the opportunities for 
making herself useful she had neglected, she 
took up a stitch in her knitting Grandmother 
Sweet had dropped; overcast some velvet 
for Mrs. Patience, who was in a hurry with a 
bonnet; and that done helped Miss Silence 
set the table and make supper ready. 


SUNSHINE AGAIN 


223 


They all saw the struggle Eose was mak- 
ing and helped her by keeping her mind as 
much as possible off from herself. And 
though that missing money still hung its dark 
shadow over her, and she started at every 
step outside with the sinking fear that it 
might be some one coming to arrest her, when 
she went to her room that night Grandmother 
Sweet patted her cheek as she kissed her 
good-night and whispered, ^‘Thee has done 
bravely, Eose,’^ an unspoken approval she 
read in the manner of the others. More than 
that, she was surprised to find her heart 
lighter than she would have thought possible 
a few hours before. 

To keep steadily on in the way she had 
marked out for herself was anything but easy 
during those days of suspense and anxiety. 
To hold back the lump that was always 
threatening to rise in her throat, the tears 
from springing to her eyes; to keep a cheer- 
ful face when her heart would be sinking 
down, down; to feel an interest in the con- 
cerns of others when her own seemed to swal- 
low up everything else. But it was her first 
step in a habit of conscious self-discipline that 


224 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


she never forgot, and that helped her to meet 
many an after hour of trial. 

So something over a week went by, for 
though Mrs. Blossom had seen Mr. Nathan 
Fifield several times the mystery was as much 
of a mystery as the first day, and in spite of 
all Mrs. Blossom could urge both he and Miss 
Eudora seemed to grow the more bitter to- 
ward Rose. Nor had there come any answer 
to the letters of inquiry sent to Fredonia. 
Every possible theory having been exhausted 
in both cases, the subjects had come to be 
avoided by a tacit consent. While as to the 
matter of the marriage certificate, that had 
made so little impression on Rose’s mind 
that she was less disappointed than the others 
in regard to it. Mrs. Blossom did not fail 
to pray daily at family devotions that the 
truth they were seeking might be revealed, 
and innocence established, and she moved 
around with the serene manner of one who 
has given over all care to a higher power. 
But though Rose was unconsciously sus- 
tained by a reliance on that strong faith she 
did not pray for herself. A hopeless apathy 


SUNSHINE AGAIN 


225 


chilled her. There might be a God, it didnT 
matter much to her, for if there was she was 
an alien to His love, and she knew she was 
that for all the rest might say. 

But one afternoon Eose saw a little pro- 
cession — Mr. Nathan Fifield and his two sis- 
ters, in single file, crossing the now snow- 
covered common in the direction of Mrs. 
Blossom’s. All her fears revived at the 
sight. She sprang up, her eyes dilated, her 
face flushing and paling. ‘‘There they 
come!” she cried. “I knew they would. 
They are going to put me in prison, I know 
they are! Oh, don’t let them take me away! 
Don’t let them!” and she threw herself down 
beside Miss Silence and hid her face in her 
lap as if for safety. 

Silence put her strong arms about the trem- 
bling form. “Sit up, Eose,” she said in a 
matter-of-fact tone, “and wait till you see 
what there is to be afraid of.” 

By the time Eose had struggled hack to 
outward calmness the visitors had entered; 
Mr. Nathan, his face almost as red as the 
red silk handkerchief he waved in his hand; 


226 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


Miss Eudora dissolved in tears; and Miss 
Fifield with an expression of mingled vexa- 
tion and crestfallen humility. 

There was a moment’s awkward silence, 
broken by Mr. Nathan in an abrupt and ag- 
gravated tone. ‘^I’ve come to explain a mis- 
take I have been led into by women’s med- 
dling and — ” 

‘‘You needn’t include me,” interrupted 
Miss Eudora. “You know I wouldn’t have 
said what I did if you hadn’t made me feel 
that we were in danger of being murdered 
in our beds, and I hadn’t thought Jane would 
be always blaming me if I didn’t use decision. 
Nobody can tell how painful it has been for 
me to do what I have. I don’t know when 
my nerves will recover from the strain, and 
I’ve lost flesh till my dresses are so loose 
they will hardly hang on me. I’m sure I 
never dreamed that Jane — ” 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes, lay all the blame you can on Jane, ’ ’ 
rejoined that lady grimly. ‘ ‘ It isn ’t often you 
get the chance, so both of you make the best 
of it. I’m sure when I went away I never 
dreamed that you were going to get in a panic 


SUNSHINE AGAIN 


227 


and act like a pair of lunatics, particularly 
a strong-minded man like Nathan. I never 
was so astonished as when I reached home 
on the stage to-day and found out what had 
happened. Eudora says she wrote me about 
it, but if she did she must have forgotten to 
put the State on; she always does, and the 
letter may be making the round of the Homes 
of the whole country; or else Nathan is car- 
rying it in his pocket yet — ^he never does re- 
member to mail a letter.’’ 

‘‘If I were you I wouldn’t say anything 
about remembering, now or for some time to 
come,” snapped her brother. 

“Friends,” Grandmother Sweet’s voice 
was serenely calm, “if thee will refrain from 
thy bickering and explain what thee means, 
it will be clear to our minds what doubtless 
thee wishes us to know.” 

While Rose, unable longer to restrain her 
impatience, exclaimed, “Oh, tell us, have you 
found who stole the money?” 

“That is just what I want to do if I can 
have a chance,” and Mr. Fifield glared at 
Jane and Eudora. Then to Rose, “No, we 


228 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


haven’t found who stole the money,” and as 
her face paled he hastened to add, ‘^because, 
in fact, the money was not stolen at all.” 

‘‘Where — ^what — ” cried his eager listen- 
ers, while Rose drew a long breath of infinite 
relief and sank back in her chair trembling, 
almost faint with the joyful relaxation after 
the long strain of anxiety. 

“Jane,” Mr. Nathan continued, rubbing 
his head till every hair stood up, “simply 
saw fit to remove the money from the place 
where she knew I was in the habit of keeping 
it, without even letting me know what she had 
done.” 

“You see,” explained Miss Fifield, feeling 
herself placed on the defensive and deter- 
mined to maintain it boldly, “I had just read 
of a man who kept his money in a stove, and 
one day some one built a fire and burned it 
all up, so I felt a stove was not a very safe 
hiding-place.” 

“Well,” snorted Mr. Nathan, “as there 
hasn’t to my certain knowledge been a fire in 
that parlor stove for the last four years, I 
don’t think there was much danger, to say 
nothing of the fact that gold will not burn.” 


SUNSHINE AGAIN 


229 


‘^But it will melt/’ triumphantly. ‘‘Be- 
sides, I have been told that when burglars go 
into a house under carpets and in stoves are 
among the first places they look. For these 
reasons I changed it to a trunk under a pile 
of papers in the store-room. I intended to 
have told Nathan what I had done, but in the 
hurry of getting away I did forget. But I 
should have thought that before accusing any 
one they would have waited to see what I 
knew about the matter.” 

“You say so much about my being forget- 
ful that I didn’t suppose you ever did such a 
thing as to forget,” growled Mr. Nathan. 
And Eudora added, “And her mind’s always 
on what she is doing. She has so little pa- 
tience with mistakes I never thought of her 
being the one to blame. ’ ’ 

“At any rate,” retorted Miss Fifield, “I 
don’t lose my glasses a dozen times a day. 
And I don’t put things in the oven to bake 
and get to mooning and let them burn up. I 
admit I was in fault about this, and I am as 
sorry as I can be for the trouble it has made, 
and most of all for the unjust suspicion it 
has brought on Eose ; but, fortunately, no one 


230 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


but ourselves is aware of this, and I don’t 
know as it will make matters any better to 
harp on it forever.” 

In fact, it needed no words to tell that the 
Fifields were not only heartily sorry for what 
had happened, but decidedly ashamed. For 
every one had been touched in the way to be 
felt most keenly; Squire Fifield in that he 
had been proven unjust and mistaken in his 
opinion. Miss Eudora that she had been hard- 
hearted, and Miss Fifield that she had failed 
in memory and laid herself open to blame. 
This blow at the especial pride of each, made 
them, while really glad that Rose had been 
proved innocent, for the moment almost wish 
that she or some one could at least have been 
guilty enough to have saved them the present 
irritation of chagrin and humiliation. 

Perhaps unconsciously something of this 
showed itself in Mr. Nathan’s manner as he 
said: ‘‘Yes, Rose, we deeply regret that we 
have wrongfully accused you — though I must 
still say that under the circumstances we 
seemed justified in doing so, and I hope you 
will accept this as a compensation for the 


SUNSHINE AGAIN 


231 


trouble it has made you/^ and he dropped 
a couple of gold eagles in her lap. 

Eose’s cheeks crimsoned. don’t want 
any such money,” she cried hotly, flinging 
the gold coins to the floor. ^‘Because I was 
poor and hadn’t any home or friends you 
thought I must be a liar and a thief. If you 
had said as though you’d meant it that you 
were sorry for the way you had treated me it 
would have been all l asked. I don’t ask 
to be paid for being honest. It’s an insult 
for you to offer to, and I’d beg before I’d 
touch it, I would ! ’ ’ 

‘^Eose, Eose!” reproved Mrs. Blossom, 
who had been unable to check the indignant 
torrent. ‘‘I trust you will overlook the way 
Eose has spoken,” she hastened to say. 
^‘This last week has been a great strain on 
her, and her nerves are in a condition that 
she is hardly responsible.” As she spoke 
she gave a warning glance at Silence, from 
the expression of whose face she knew that 
she approved of Eose’s action, and was fear- 
ful would endorse it in words; at the same 
time Mrs, Patience looked at Eose in amaze- 


232 


NOBODY’S BOSE 


ment that she should dare thus to provoke 
Nathan Fifield’s well-known irascible tem- 
per, and all present waited for the explosion 
they expected would follow. 

But contrary to their expectation after a 
moment’s amazement he began to laugh. 
‘‘She’ll do,” he said to Mrs. Blossom with a 
nod of approval. “Grit like that will pull 
through every time, and she’s got it about 
right, too. Upon my word,” rubbing his 
hands as if at a sudden idea, “if no one else 
puts in a claim I will be tempted to adopt 
her myself. I believe an education wouldn’t 
be wasted, and with her spunk I’d like to see 
what she would make.” 

One good thing about Eose’s temper was 
that though fiery its flame was quickly spent, 
and penitence was almost sure to swiftly 
follow wrath. It was so in this case ; hardly 
had he ceased speaking when a meek little 
voice was heard, “I didn’t do right at all, 
Mr. Fifield, to talk to you as I did, and I hope 
you’ll forgive me?” 

“Well, my dear,” was the answer, “I 
didn’t do right either in being so ready to 
think evil of you, in being on the lookout for 


SUNSHINE AGAIN 


233 


something wrong, as I was, and I hope you’ll 
forgive me? ” 

^^And me, too,” sobbed Miss Eudora. ‘‘I 
never was hard on anybody before in my 
life, and I’m sure I never will be again.” 

^‘And now,” observed Miss Fifield drily, 
suppose I ought to ask to be forgiven for 
being the guilty one.” 

^^Oh, Miss Fifield,” and Eose caught her 
hand, ‘^we all forget things; I know I tried 
you lots of times by forgetting. It wasn’t — 
I suppose — strange they should have thought 
as they did, but it’s all right now. And 
please promise me, Mr. Fifield and Miss Eu- 
dora, that you will let it all go, and never 
say anything unpleasant to Miss Fifield 
about it.” 

‘‘Why, child!” cried Mr. Nathan, as if 
astonished at the idea, “I wouldn’t say any- 
thing unpleasant to my sisters, I never do. 
Of course I have to hold them level now and 
then, but I don’t know as I ever spoke a really 
unpleasant word to them in my life.” 

“Yes,” Miss Fifield ’s tone was compla- 
cent, “that is one of the things I have always 
been thankful for, that we were a perfectly 


234 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


harmonious family. I don’t deny that I am 
tried sometimes with Nathan and Eudora, 
hut I never let them know it.” 

have my trials, too,” added Miss Eu- 
dora with a pensive shake of her little grey 
curls, ‘‘but I bear them in silence. Family 
squabbles are so disgraceful that I don’t see 
how a person of refinement could ever take 
part in one.” 

Rose stared round-eyed from one to an- 
other speaker, and Silence Blossom turned 
her face away for a moment; but Grand- 
mother Sweet smiled gently, for she had long 
ago learned how seldom it is that people know 
their own faults, or see themselves as others 
see them. 

As they were leaving Miss Fifield turned 
to Rose. “Of course we shall want you to 
come back to us. When will that be?” 

“Not just at present,” Mrs. Blossom 
hastened to answer. “First of all she must 
have time to rest and get back to her usual 
self.” Rose lifted grateful eyes, for at that 
moment it didn’t seem to her that she could 
enter the Fifield house again. 

At the door Miss Eudora paused. “And 


SUNSHINE AGAIN 


235 


you haven’t heard anything yet about her 
people? Finding the marriage certificate in 
the locket was just like a story. And if she 
should prove to be an heiress how romantic 
that would be! I heard of such a case the 
winter I was in Albany.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


GEEAT-UNCLE SAMUEL 

SuEPRisiNG events were not over for Rose. 
The next morning as she was dusting the 
sitting-room, with a lighter heart than she had 
thought could ever again be hers, a carriage 
drew up at the small white gate, from which 
an old gentleman alighted and came nimbly 
along the narrow, flagged walk, tapping the 
stones smartly with his gold-headed cane. 

‘‘Is this Mrs. Blossom!’’ he asked in a 
thin, brisk voice as she answered his knock 
on the green-paneled door, where Rose had 
stood with fluttering heart so few months 
before. “Then I suppose you are the per- 
son who wrote concerning a young girl sup- 
posed to he the daughter of Kate Jarvis and 
James Shannon.” 

At that moment he caught sight of Rose. 
“Bless my heart!” he exclaimed, stepping 
in. “If there isn’t the child now! Kate’s 
own daughter; I’d have known her anywhere. 

236 


GREAT-UNCLE SAMUEL 


237 


The very picture of what her mother was at 
her age. Bless me!’’ and he rubbed his thin 
face, flushed with the chill of the ride from 
Byfield and wrinkled like a withered apple, 
with a great white silk handkerchief. 

‘‘Turn around to the light, child,” he di- 
rected Eose, not heeding Mrs. Blossom’s in- 
vitation to lay aside his wraps. “I want to 
get a good look at you. Yes,” lifting her 
chin and moving her head from side to side, 
“clear Jarvis and no mistake — the color of 
the hair and eyes, the turn of the head and 
all. I’m thankful you’re no Shannon, 
though Jim looked well enough as far as that 
went. 

“Dear, dear,” to Mrs. Blossom, “to think 
that Brother Eohert’s daughter, the little 
Kate I have held on my knee many a time, 
should be grown and married and dead, and 
this be her child. It’s difficult, madam, to 
realize such changes; it makes one feel that 
he is growing old, upon my word it does.” 

Eose, on her part, was looking at him in- 
tently. “I believe it is your picture in the 
locket,” and running upstairs she quickly 
returned with it open in her hand. 


238 


NOBODY’S EOSE 


He drew out his eye-glasses. ^^Yes, that 
is my picture. Quite a good-looking fellow 
I was in those days. Kate was my only 
niece, and I gave her the locket on her eight- 
eenth birthday. And so she always kept it, 
and you have it still. Well, well!’’ 

‘^And had my mother an Aunt Sarah?” 
questioned Eose. 

‘‘Yes, her mother’s only sister, Sarah 
Hartly.” 

“I have a Bible she gave my mother, with 
‘To Kate from Aunt Sarah,’ written in- 
side.” 

“Well,” with a little chuckle, “I’m sur- 
prised to know that she ever gave anybody 
anything.” 

“I haven’t thanked you yet, ” and he turned 
again to Mrs. Blossom, “for the interest you 
have shown in the matter. Indeed I was 
so surprised when I received the letter from 
the minister who married Kate, who still 
lives in Fredonia, inclosing yours to him, 
and the first word concerning Kate for fifteen 
years, that I haven’t recovered from it yet. 
And now to find another Kate, as you may 
say; why, it makes me feel as though I had 



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GHEAT-UNCLE SAMUEL 


289 


lost my reckoning, and tlie world Lad rolled 
back thirty years. 

‘^And did yon not know then that Eose’s 
mother was dead?’’ 

‘^No. Since her foolish, runaway marriage 
to Jim Shannon, sixteen years ago, I had 
not heard a word either from or about her, 
till your letter, and you know how little that 
told. Since her mother’s death the lawyer 
in charge of the business has made every 
effort to find a trace of Kate or her heirs, 
but in vain. Of the events of her later life 
I know nothing whatever, not even when or 
where she died.” 

‘‘It was when I was quite a little girl,” an- 
swered Eose, “and in a city that I now think 
was Chicago.” 

“I gather from Mrs. Blossom’s letter that 
your father was also dead. Is that so?” 

“Yes ; he died a little while after mamma.” 

“A fortunate circumstance for you,” with 
a nod to Mrs. Blossom. “And where have 
you been all this time; and why if you had 
your mother’s marriage certificate didn’t 
you try to find your friends, or somebody 
before this try to find them for you?” 


240 


NOBODY BOSE 


In the meantime, Mr. Samuel Jarvis, the 
old gentleman, as he talked, had by degrees 
taken off his muffler, fur-lined overcoat, fur 
cap and gloves, and accepted the comfortable 
rocker before the fire. Now in answer to 
his question, made though it was in a some- 
what testy fashion, Eose related to him her 
story, recalling all the details she could re- 
member of her mother, while Great-Uncle 
Samuel rubbed his eyes with his big silk 
handkerchief and murmured, ‘‘Poor Kate, 
poor Kate!’’ 

When she came to her residence with 
Madam Atheldena Sharpe, his tone changed 
to one of horrified protest. “Kate’s baby 
in the hands of a travelling clairvoyant^ ex- 
hibited like a Punch and Judy Show; who 
ever heard of such a thing!” As she told 
of the exposure, and her desertion by Madam 
Sharpe, the bitterness and misery of which 
she had never forgotten, he bristled with in- 
dignation. “Kate’s baby with nowhere to 
go and nothing to eat; alone, afraid, and 
hungry! Could it be possible!” 

All excited as she was, and stimulated still 
more by his interest, Eose gave to her story 


GREAT-UNCLE SAMUEL 


241 


a certain dramatic force. Her keen sense 
of the ludicrous gave some humorous touches 
even to her description of Mrs. Hagood. 
When it came to her trouble with that lady 
she hesitated a moment, and then gave a 
most dramatic account of the closing scene, 
as well as of her flight, her encounter with 
Ben Pancost, and the help he had given her. 

‘‘True Jarvis spirit!’’ cried Great-Uncle 
Samuel, rubbing his hands. “Kate’s baby 
climbed out of the window in the night; 
tramped off all alone. Just think of it! 
And that boy, I’d like to meet him!” 

But when she came to tell of her appear- 
ance at the Blossom home, and the kindness 
which she had there received, he insisted on 
shaking hands with the whole family in turn. 
“Bless me,” he exclaimed, “to think you 
have done all this for Kate’s baby. Who 
ever heard anything like it?” 

Her stay at the Fiflelds’, including as it 
did the accusation made against her there, 
was a subject so fresh and painful to Rose, 
and seemed to her from the fact of the sus- 
picion to involve her in such a disgrace that 
when she came to it she flushed, hesitated, 


242 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


and Mrs. Blossom, seeing her embarrass- 
ment, came to the rescue and related the 
circumstances that had led to the bringing 
out of the locket, and the accidental discov- 
ery of the marriage certificate inside it. 

To Rose’s great surprise Great-Uncle Sam- 
uel did not seem to regard the fact that she 
had been charged with theft as anything par- 
ticularly shameful ; indeed he treated it with 
decided indifference. ^^They need not have 
worried, ’ ’ with a lofty tone, ‘ ‘ as to her being 
a low-bred child, the Jarvises are as good 
blood as you will often find. And to think, ’ ’ 
sadly, ^Hhat the locket I gave Kate should 
have served a purpose neither of us ever 
dreamed of.” 

‘‘And why was it you didn’t know any- 
thing about my mother?” asked Rose. 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Blossom, “that is a 
question I was just going to ask. ’ ’ 

“As I said before, when she ran away 
with Jim Shannon she cut herself off from 
all her friends. Poor Kate, how much suf- 
fering she brought on herself by her wilful- 
ness! And yet I don’t think the blame was 
all hers. If her father had lived I’m certain 


GREAT-UNCLE SAMUEL 


243 


it would never have happened ; hut her 
mother was a woman who wanted to bend 
every one and everything to her will. And 
Kate was an uncommonly high-spirited girl, 
impulsive and a trifle headstrong, hut gen- 
erous, a:ffectionate, and everybody’s favorite; 
a girl that it needed some tact to manage, 
and her mother hadn’t a particle of tact. 
So when Kate fell in love with Jim Shannon 
she made a bad matter worse instead of 
better. Enough was said to Kate hut she 
wouldn’t believe a word of it. I told her 
myself that he drank like a fish, and she 
only held up her head and said that he might 
have been a trifle wild, as any number of 
other young men had been, but that he was 
going to be entirely different. Well, it was 
the old story, marry him she would and did. 
And when she wrote to her mother asking 
if she could come home, Mary sent word 
hack that she might, hut her husband could 
never cross her threshold. Of course that 
made Jim mad, and Kate wrote at once that 
whoever received her must receive her hus- 
band also. Her mother sent that letter hack 
to her, and there it all ended. In less than 


244 


NOBODY EOSE 


a week they were on their way West, and 
Kate never wrote a word home again. 

‘ ^ Some of her girl friends had a few letters 
from her, very bright at first, and telling 
how happy she was in her new home, but 
these soon stopped. I don’t deny that I was a 
good deal pnt out with her at first, but I 
understood her silence only too well. If life 
had gone smoothly with her she would have 
written, but as it was, she knew that what- 
ever she had to endure she had brought it 
on herself, and she would bear it alone. 

‘‘Kate’s mother was a proud woman, too. 
From the day Kate left she never mentioned 
her name, nor would she let any one men- 
tion it to her; but I believe that secretly she 
lived in the expectation and hope of her re- 
turn. It was like her when she died, five 
years ago, not to leave any will, and the 
lawyer has advertised, and tried in every 
way to find some trace of Kate. And now, 
like the spring in the locket, all at once un- 
expectedly it opens and everything is clear 
and plain.” 

He turned abruptly to Kose, who had been 
listening intently to all that concerned her 


GREAT-UNCLE SAMUEL 


245 


mother. ^^What did they say your name 
was, Rose! I ought to remember that, when 
I was a little hoy in school if there was a 
little girl we liked very much we used to 
write on a slate, 

“ ‘The rose is red, 

The violet blue, 

Sugar is sweet. 

And so are you,’ 

and hold it up for her to see. Now, Rose, 
when I speak of the property your grand- 
mother has left you may think you are going 
to be an heiress. And I want to tell you 
the first thing that you will be nothing of 
the kind. My brother left everything to his 
wife, and she had no more business sense 
than that cat, so when she died there was 
very little left. I don’t know the exact 
amount but somewhere about three thousand 
dollars. The proofs are sufficient that you 
are Kate’s child, so there will be no trouble 
there. But you understand that there isn’t 
enough for you to go to seaside summer re- 
sorts, or to fly very high in the fashionable 
world. ’ ’ 

Rose laughed outright. ‘‘Why, I don’t 


246 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


know anything about either seaside summer 
resorts, or the fashionable world, and never 
expect to.^’ 

‘‘Just as well; it^s a pity more women, 
young and old, can’t say the same. But as 
I was going to say, if you are willing to use 
strict economy there will be enough to take 
care of you at least till you are through 
school.” 

Rose’s eyes sparkled with’ joy. “Oh, if 
there is only enough for that it is all I ask! 
Once I have education to teach I can take 
care of myself.” 

“That sounds like Kate. And if you are 
like her as much as you look I sha’n’t fear 
for you.” 


CHAPTEE XIX 


EOSE FINDS A KESTING-PLACE 

^^Of course, Mr. Jarvis, you will stay with 
us to dinner, and as much longer as you can,’’ 
said Miss Silence as he drew out a big gold 
watch and snapped the case open. 

‘‘Thank you, madam, thank you. I shall 
be glad to accept your hospitality for the din- 
ner. In the meantime I think I will take a 
walk about your pleasant little village. By 
the way, there are two questions I always ask 
concerning a place : what is its latitude, and 
population?” and he looked from one to an- 
other. 

Miss Silence laughed. “I am afraid we 
can answer neither question.” 

“It doesn’t matter, I can judge of the lat- 
ter myself. ’ ’ And having enveloped himself 
again in his muffler, overcoat, cap, and gloves, 
he went briskly down the walk, his cane seem- 
ing more for ornament than need. 

Eose hurried out into the kitchen and put- 
247 


248 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


ting on her gingham apron began to set the 
table. ‘ ' I suppose now, ’ ’ and Silence counted 
out the eggs to fry with the ham, ‘‘that I 
sha’n’t have you to help me much longer.” 

“Oh, Miss Silence,” and dropping the 
bread tray. Rose caught her around the waist 
and gave her a squeeze, “you know, you 
know, I never will go away from here as long 
as I may stay.” 

For Rose had been tossed to and fro like a 
shuttlecock at the mercy of adverse currents 
so long, that she felt not only some wonder 
but a little uneasiness as to what disposal 
would next be made of her. 

“It’s very nice, of course,” as she sliced 
the bread, “when I didn’t know that I had a 
relative to have Great-Uncle Samuel walk in, 
and I suppose he has the right to say where I 
shall go, and what I shall do. Only I’m so 
tired of changes and uncertainties that I wish 
I might never have to make another change ; 
and I wish that I might know right now, right 
away, what I am going to do.” 

As for Mr. Samuel Jarvis, the surprising 
news of Rose’s existence, followed so quickly 
by her appearance before him in the flesh. 


BOSE FINDS A RESTING-PLACE 249 

was of itself bewildering, to say nothing of 
the responsibility so suddenly thrust upon 
him of making provision for her future. 

This was shown by a certain preoccupation 
of manner on his return. Not so much so 
but that his eyes, still keen and bright, noted 
everything around him; the well-appointed 
table, the delicately served food, the low tones 
and gentle manners of the group surrounding 
it, the air of order and comfort pervading 
the modest home. But it was not till he 
pushed back from the table after the meal 
that he mentioned the question of vital inter- 
est to Rose. 

‘‘I’ve been thinking,” he spoke to Mrs. 
Blossom, tapping his cane on the floor as he 
talked, “what I ought to do for Kate’s baby 
now I’ve found her, and I don’t know when 
I’ve come across a harder proposition. I 
don’t wonder that women look worn out who 
have half a dozen girls to provide for. I’m 
sure that one would be too much for me. 

“Of course Sarah Hartly is the one who 
ought to take Violet — oh. Rose, so it is, and 
if she wasn’t so supremely selfish she would. 
I stopped off at Fredonia, on my way from 


250 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


Buffalo here, and put it up to her. There she 
is, her grandmother’s sister, and Kate her 
only niece, a widow without chick or child, 
and a house she doesn’t begin to use, and she 
said her health wasn’t good enough, and her 
nerves were too weak to take a bouncing girl 
— those were her very words, ‘bouncing girl,’ 
into her family. I should think her nerves 
would he weak,” he sniffed, “with that 
miserable whiffet dog she keeps, barking and 
snapping at every one. Snapped at me he 
did, and I told Sarah plainly that if a dog 
ever bit me some one would pay well for it. 
She shut him up then, and he was howling 
and scratching when I came away. 

“Now, I can’t take her. I never was mar- 
ried and I don’t know any more what a girl 
needs than the man in the moon. Besides, I 
live at a club and that would be no place for 
a young girl. But as I was saying about — 
what did you say her name was? Oh, yes. 
Rose, she looks strong and healthy, and I’d 
like to have her stay where she could have 
pure air, and new milk and fresh eggs. 
There is no place like the country to live, at 
least when one is young. 


ROSE FINDS A RESTING-PLACE 251 


“I’m quite pleased with your little village; 
it’s situated nicely, and your town-folk tell 
me you have no malaria. I have made in- 
quiry about the school and am told it is un- 
usually good for a place of this size. And, 
Mrs. Blossom, I had just as soon tell you that 
I have made inquiries about your family, with 
the most flattering answers. You have all 
shown the kindest interest in the poor child, 
and from what I have heard, and still more 
from what I have seen, I feel that if she can 
remain in your care it will be the best ar- 
rangement I could make for her. Would 
that suit you?” turning to Rose. 

“Indeed it would,” her face bright with 
pleasure that what she had wished seemed 
so near fulfilment. “Nothing could suit me 
better.” 

“Wait a moment,” waving his hand to 
Mrs. Blossom not to speak; “I want to make 
myself fully understood. If Kate’s baby re- 
mains here you will, of course, be paid for her 
board, but I should want you to regard her 
as more than a mere boarder — in short, to re- 
ceive her as one of your family, and give her 
the same care and interest, and as long as the 


252 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


arrangement continues that this shall be her 
home, and all that implies.’’ 

As Rose glanced from one to another she 
recalled the day when homeless and friend- 
less she had sat in that same room and waited, 
with a hungry hope in her heart, for the de- 
cision that meant so much to her ; the misery 
and uncertainty of further wandering, or the 
happiness and security of a shelter and abid- 
ing-place. There had been a great change 
since then. Now she had Great-Uncle Sam- 
uel to vouch for her; she was no longer an 
unknown and half-suspected applicant for 
charity, hut ready and able to pay for what 
she had. But so dear had that home, and 
those within it grown to Rose, with such a 
dread did she shrink from the thought of 
being thrust out again among strangers that 
not even on that first time, it seemed to her, 
did she wait the answer more eagerly. 

As often happened, impulsive Silence was 
the first to speak. ^^For my part, I should 
be only too glad to have Rose stay with us, 
and I will do all I can to make her happy 
here.” ^ 

‘‘I’m sure,” it was Mrs. Patience’s gentle 


ROSE FINDS A RESTING-PLACE 253 


voice, ^^Rose has won for herself a place in 
our home, that would be vacant without her. ’ ’ 
It was a moment longer before Mrs. Blos- 
som spoke, and when she did there was a 
quiver in her usually firm, self-controlled 
tone, Yes, I will keep Rose, and I will do for 
her just as I would have done for my own 
little Rachel if she had lived. ’ ^ 

Grandmother Sweet, sitting in her rocker 
with the sunshine falling across her snowy 
hair and serene face, laid down her knitting, 
whose subdued click, click, seemed like her 
own quiet personality to pervade the room, 

feel it borne on my mind, Elizabeth, that 
thee will never regret the word thee has just 
given.’’ And then to Mr. Jarvis, ^‘Thee need 
feel no concern for the child, for while Si- 
lence and Patience in the tenderness of their 
hearts would, I fear, wholly spoil her, their 
mother will be heedful of her duty to guide 
and train. And truly it will be a pleasure to 
us all to have this little one of the dear Lord 
set in our midst. ’ ’ 

Thank you, madam,” and Great-Uncle 
Samuel made a deferential bow to her; 
shall go away with my mind at ease. 


254 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


‘‘And now,” to Rose, “if I leave you with 
these kind ladies I shall expect you to be 
good and obedient in return for all they do 
for you. ’ ’ 

“I’ll try to be,” was Rose’s dutiful an- 
swer. 

“That’s right, that’s right. I hope you 
always will remember to. Young people are 
very apt to think they know it all when they 
haven’t the first idea what’s for their good. 
I’m glad you look like your mother, and hope 
you will have all her good qualities, but I 
want you to remember the trouble she brought 
on herself and all who cared for her just by 
wilfulness. I believe that settles everything. 
Four dollars, I was told, is the average price 
for board here ; if that is satisfactory a check 
will be sent you every three months, for that 
and Rose’s expenses. But mind,” turning 
to Rose, “you must be very prudent to make 
the money last.” 

She hesitated a little. “I — I could go back 
to the Fifields’. They would pay me fifty 
cents a week and that would save a good 
deal.” 

He threw up both hands, ‘ ‘ What ! Robert 


ROSE FINDS A RESTING-PLACE 255 


Jarvis’s granddaughter, Kate’s child, a serv- 
ant? Bless me! Never let me hear of that 
again ! ’ ’ 

‘‘Rose is very helpful about the house,” 
added Mrs. Blossom. “I will not ask that 
price. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Little enough, madam, little enough. Be- 
sides, I want you to teach her useful things ; 
to cook, to take care of a house. More men 
are killed by bad bread than bullets, and I 
don’t want Kate’s baby ever to murder any 
one that way.” As he spoke he began to 
draw on his overcoat. 

“Why, you are not going?” exclaimed Mrs. 
Blossom. 

“Yes, madam, yes. There seems no need 
for me to stay longer. The team that 
brought me from the station is waiting to 
take me back for the evening train, and I can 
be in Buffalo again in the morning.” 

“But when are you coming again. Uncle 
Samuel?” asked Rose. 

“Can’t say. Rose — ^yes, I am right, it is 
Rose. What with dyspepsia and rheuma- 
tism, and the weight of years, I am not a 
great traveler. Besides, everything is, I be- 


256 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


lieve, satisfactorily settled. My brief stay 
has been very pleasant/’ as he shook hands 
around, ending with Rose and the admoni- 
tion, ‘‘Be a credit to these good ladies.” 

The team was already waiting at the gate. 
“He doesn’t intend to come again,” said Rose 
with a wistful accent as she stood at the win- 
dow and watched Great-Uncle Samuel tuck 
the fur robes about him and drive away. 


CHAPTER XX 

PAYING DEBTS 

Rose stood at the window as long as Great- 
Uncle Samnel was in sight. Then she turned 
away and sitting down on a low stool by 
Grandmother Sweet’s side laid her head on 
its chintz covered arm. 

‘‘Grandma Sweet,” she whispered softly, 
“I’m sorry I said what I did. I do see God’s 
care and leading now.” 

“Dear child,” was the smiling answer as 
the wrinkled hand smoothed tenderly the 
plump, fair cheek, “never doubt His care and 
leading. It is not often this is made so clear 
and it never may be to thee again, for we are 
commanded to walk by faith and not by sight ; 
but always be sure that God’s love and care 
are ever over thee.” 

“I know it,” was the low answer. “I will 
never doubt it again. ’ ’ 

“If thee is ever tempted to, and it will be 
strange if thee is not — keep this in mind: 

257 


258 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


that the Lord’s thought toward thee is al- 
ways of love, that He will lay nothing upon 
thee that He will not give thee strength to 
hear, and no discipline whose right use will 
not make thee stronger and better, and the 
better fitted for that abundant entrance into 
His kingdom which I trust and pray may be 
thine. ’ ’ 

Twilight shadows were creeping into the 
room, and these two, the young heart just 
opening to God’s love, and the aged heart 
who had tested it through a long lifetime, sat 
hand in hand in the peaceful stillness. 

The opening of a door aroused Rose. Si- 
lence Blossom had come in from feeding her 
chickens, bringing with her a whiff of the 
crisp, outer air. ‘‘Well, Rose,” as she held 
out her hands to the heat of the fire, “are you 
a happy girl to-night T ’ 

“Indeed I am. I thought yesterday when 
I knew that the money was found, that I was 
happy as I could be; but I am still happier 
now. To think that no one can call me a 
pauper any more, or twit me with being a 
charity child!” Her voice choked, for every 


PAYING DEBTS 


259 


taunting reference to her poverty had stung 
deep, and with all the sensitiveness of a 
proud nature she had felt the bitterness of 
her dependent condition. Just to think that 
I can pay for what I have, and have an educa- 
tion. Why, it seems too good to be true. If 
it were three millions I don^t believe I could 
feel any richer. Of course,’’ she hurried 
to add, know I must be very careful, 
but I wonder — do you think — that I could 
have a new dress, not made over, but one 
bought on purpose for me ; and a pair of kid 
gloves — I don’t know that I could afford 
them, but I’ve wanted a pair so long.” 

^^Yes.” Silence Blossom spoke quick and 
decisive. You can have a pair of kid gloves 
and a new dress. It can be neat and pretty 
without being of expensive material. ’ ’ 

Eose hesitated a moment. ‘‘I suppose a 
brown or a blue dress would do me the most 
service, but I’ve always wished that I could 
have a red dress.” 

red dress it shall be, then,” said Miss 
Silence. ‘‘And you can help me make it. I 
haven’t forgotten how a girl feels about her 


260 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


clothes, and as long as I have any say about 
it you are going to have things like other 
girls. ’ ’ 

Rose drew a blissful breath; she could 
hardly believe it possible. In fact, it was a 
difficult matter for Rose to go to sleep that 
night, she was so overflowing with happiness; 
and numberless were the plans as to what she 
would do and be, as blissful as they were 
vague, that floated through her excited mind 
as she lay with her eyes wide open in the 
moonlight. 

‘‘I wish Ben Pancost could know,’’ she 
whispered. And then for all her happiness 
she sighed a little quivering sigh, for since 
the day they parted in the little parlor of the 
Byfield hotel, not one glimpse had she seen 
or one word had she heard of Ben Pancost. 
He had neither come to Parmdale at the time 
he had appointed, nor in any of the weeks that 
followed, though she had watched for him 
with eyes that grew weary with watching, 
and sometimes were wet with the tears of 
disappointment. 

Rose could not understand it. Ben had 
been so interested in her behalf, he had left 


PAYING DEBTS 


261 


her so full of anxiety for her welfare, with 
such a positive promise of coming to see her. 
Nor could she doubt him. If ever she felt in- 
clined to do so, the remembrance of all his 
kindness, of all he had been to her in the time 
of her sore need would come afresh to her 
mind. She had but to shut her eyes to see 
again the merry, sunburned face,, with the 
straightforward, honest eyes, so full of sym- 
pathy, and to feel the tight clasp of his warm, 
brown hand as he slipped the silver dollars 
into it. One of these she had never spent 
and whenever she looked at it there came the 
certainty that Ben could not have failed her ; 
something must have happened, and what that 
was she could not imagine. Eose seldom 
mentioned Ben to Mrs. Blossom or Silence, 
because they both inclined to the opinion that 
being but a boy some fresher interest had 
crowded the matter from his mind. But Mrs. 
Patience believed with her that he was not a 
boy to lightly break a promise, and that he 
would have come if he could. 

wish more than ever that I could see 
Ben Pancost,’’ she confided to Mrs. Patience 
when her first check arrived, ^^for now I 


262 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


could pay him back the money he let me have. 
And Ben works hard for his money, and he 
may need it. If I knew where he was I would 
write and send it to him.’’ 

“Oh, no. Rose!” Mrs. Patience’s sense 
of propriety was delicate and old-fashioned. 
“It would hardly be proper for a young girl 
to write to a boy.” 

“But this would be different,” urged Rose. 
“It would be business, paying a debt.” 

“That would make a difference,” admit- 
ted Mrs. Patience, “for a lady would not 
wish to rest under an obligation of that kind 
if she could avoid it. But then you do not 
know where he is.” 

“No,” admitted Rose sadly, for brief as 
her acquaintance with Ben Pancost had been 
its circumstance had made it one of the most 
vivid memories of her life ; and the day spent 
with him, as she looked back on it, seemed to 
her almost like a page out of fairyland, with 
Ben himself, warm-hearted, sympathetic, 
loyal Ben, with his happy self-confidence and 
happier confidence in God, as its knight and 
hero. 


PAYING DEBTS 


263 


Then Eose’s face brightened. ‘‘For all 
that, I have a feeling that I shall meet Ben 
again, sometime.^’ 

“He may be dead,” suggested Mrs. Pa- 
tience, whose own bereavement sometimes 
gave a tinge of melancholy to her sweet na- 
ture. 

“Then he has gone to heaven,” was Eose’s 
quick answer, ‘ ‘ and if when I die I go there, 
too, I shall be sure to meet him.” 

A few days later Eose came in with her arm 
full of school books. “Those are my books 
for next term,” as she spread them proudly 
on the table. 

“The history is not new,” remarked Si- 
lence Blossom as she glanced them over. 

“No; Clara Brown used it last year. But 
it is not much soiled and she let me have it 
fifty cents cheaper than a new one, and I have 
a particular use for that fifty cents. ’ ^ 

With that Eose went up to her room and 
after a time came down with an open letter 
in her hand. “I Ve been writing to Mrs. Ha- 
good, and I’d like to read it to you, and have 
you tell me if it’s all right. 


264 


NOBODY ROSE 


‘Deab Madam/ 

‘‘I thought first I wouldn’t say ‘dear/ ” 
she explained, “for she never was dear to 
me, one little bit; but I thought it would be 
polite to, and I wanted to be polite. 

“ ‘Perhaps you think that I ought not to 
have taken those things to eat when I left 
your house, though they were not- much more 
than I would have eaten at the supper which 
I did not have, and the basket I put them in 
was an old grape basket. So I send you fifty 
cents, which is all everything is worth, and 
more, too !’ 

“Fifty cents was all Ben paid for my din- 
ner the next day, and it was a fine dinner. 

“ ‘I am living with a very nice family who 
are so kind to me. Mrs. Blossom found my 
relatives, and my real name is not Posey 
Sharpe, but Rose Shannon. My grand- 
mother had left me property, so I am not a 
charity child any more, hut have money of 
my own to pay for my hoard and clothes, and 
an education. I like Farmdale, and have 
good friends here. The paper I am writing 
on is from a box given me at Christmas.’ ” 

She paused and looked from one to another. 
“Will that do?” 


PAYING DEBTS 


265 


didn^t hear any regret for the way you 
left Mrs. Hagood/^ said Mrs. Blossom. 

‘‘No, nor you won^t hear any. I know I 
didn^t do right, hut if she had done what was 
right herself it wouldn’t have happened. If 
I’d said anything, I should have said that, 
so I thought perhaps I’d better not say any- 
thing. I’ve always felt she might say that I 
took what didn’t belong to me, and I’m only 
too glad to send her the money. I would 
have liked to have added something to Mr. 
Hagood, but I was afraid if I did it would 
make trouble for him. She will be apt to 
read the letter to him, and he will be glad to 
know I am so nicely settled, but it will make 
her feel pretty bad to know that I can pay 
for my board and she not get the money,” 
and Eose gave a chuckle. 

“ How did you sign yourself?” asked Miss 
Silence, who had been biting her lips to keep 
from laughing. 

“I just signed my name. I wasn’t going to 
say ‘Yours truly,’ or ‘sincerely,’ for I’m not 
hers, and it’s one of the joys of my life that 
I never shall be.” And Eose folded the let- 
ter into its envelope and patted on the stamp. 


CHAPTER XXI 

THE BOX FBOM GREAT-AUNT SARAH 

It was some two weeks after Great-Uncle 
SamuePs visit that the stage one day stopped 
at the Blossom ^s. ^^Rose Shannon live 
hereU^ the driver asked. ‘^Here’s a box for 
her I found over at Byfield. ’ ’ 

‘‘A box for me?^’ cried Rose, circling 
round it. ^‘Who in the world can it be 
from?’' 

‘‘Perhaps when we open it we will know,” 
and Silence brought the hatchet and quickly 
had the cover loose. “There’s a letter,” 
as she lifted the lid. “No doubt that will 
tell.” 

Rose unfolded the letter and read it in si- 
lence. Then she handed it to Mrs. Blos- 
som. “It’s from my Great-Aunt Sarah; you 
can read it out loud. ’ ’ Her cheeks were red, 
but she spoke quietly, so quietly that Mrs. 
Blossom glanced at her keenly as she took the 
letter and read ; 


266 


BOX FROM GREAT-AUNT SARAH 267 


Deae Niece: 

have had a letter from Samuel Jarvis 
in which he writes that there is no question 
but you are the daughter of Kate Jarvis, and 
as he is a careful man I dare say it is so. The 
minister who was written to, and who mar- 
ried Kate came to me first and I referred him 
to Samuel, for being a man he could better 
look after the matter. 

^‘He also wrote me the arrangement he had 
made for you. I am glad to know that you 
are with a worthy family, and I trust they 
will look after your manners — manners are so 
important for a young girl. Your mother’s 
manners were considered attractive, but she 
was headstrong. I hope you are not head- 
strong. I must say that under the circum- 
stances, with no ope to look after and his 
brother’s grandchild, I should have thought 
Samuel Jarvis would have taken charge of 
you himself. But Samuel never did consider 
anything but his own selfish ease and pleas- 
ure and I suppose he is too old to look for 
any change now. I myself am a nervous 
wreck, so I could not possibly have you with 
me. 

‘^As I know that you have but little money 
and will need to be very careful, with this let- 
ter I am sending you some things that if you 
are at all capable you can make over and use 


268 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


for yourself ; the stockings you can cut over, 
and the slippers were always too small for 
me. 

Samuel Jarvis wrote me about the Bible 
I gave your mother. I remember it well, and 
am pleased to know that you have kept it. 

^^Your affectionate aunt, 

‘^Sakah Haetly.^' 

No one made a remark as Mrs. Blossom 
finished the letter, till Miss Silence spoke, 
‘‘Well, let us see what^s in the box.’’ 

The contents were quickly taken out, for 
even Grandmother Sweet would have con- 
fessed to a curiosity in the matter. These 
were an old black velvet dress worn thread- 
bare at the seams and trimmed with beaded 
fringe; a soiled black and white check wool 
wrapper; a black satin skirt shiny with wear; 
a purple silk with coffee stains down the front 
breadth ; some brown brocaded material which 
had evidently served as lining to a cloak; a 
bundle of half -worn stockings ; several yards 
of black feather trimming, moth-eaten in 
spots ; a pair of fancy bedroom slippers ; and 
at the bottom of the box a plush cape heavily 
braided with a bugle trimming. 


BOX FROM GREAT-AUNT SARAH 269 


Hardly a word had been uttered as one by 
one the garments bad been unfolded. Rose 
bad knelt among them in silence; now she 
drew the cape about her and rose to her feet. 
For a moment she looked down at herself, 
then tearing the cape off she gave it a throw 
and sank back in a little heap on the floor. 
‘ ^ I know it would be comfortable, ’ ^ she wailed, 
‘‘and I need it, and it would save spending 
money, but I can’t wear that cape with those 
bugles, I can’t.” 

Silence Blossom was laughing. “You 
needn’t wear it. Rose,” she said soothingly. 

Mrs. Patience had lifted the cape and was 
examining it. “That was an expensive gar- 
ment, when it was new.” 

“It might have been, when it was new,” 
retorted her sister. 

“What am I to do with the stutf?” ques- 
tioned Rose with a tragic gesture toward the 
unfolded garments scattered round her. “I’ve 
a good mind to pack it in the box again and 
send it straight back to Great-Aunt Sarah ! ’ ’ 

“No, no. Rose,” reproved Mrs. Blossom; 
“remember she is your aunt.” 

“ I do remember. ’ ’ Rose ’s eyes were spar- 


270 


NOBODY’S BOSE 


kling with angry tears. used sometimes 
to imagine what it would be like if I should 
ever find my relatives and have real aunts 
and uncles and cousins, who cared for me. 
Well, I have found them,” and she drew a 
sobbing breath. ‘ ‘I have a Great-Uncle Sam- 
uel and a Great-Aunt Sarah ; and neither one 
cares that for me, ’ ’ and she gave a snap to 
her fingers, ^^and neither one will have me — 
though I’m glad Great-Aunt Sarah doesn’t 
want me. But I shall love Great-Uncle Sam- 
uel always, even if I never see him again, be- 
cause he did take enough interest to come 
and see me, and plan things for me. When 
I was Posey, I was nobody’s Posey; and now 
I’m Eose, I’m nobody’s Eose!” 

‘‘You are our Eose,” and Mrs. Patience 
put her arms about her, “and the Fifields 
think you are their Eose. I will tell you 
what you can do. You can win the love of 
people for yourself, and so be everybody’s 
Eose.” 

Eose suddenly smiled. “I never thought 
of that before, but I will do it. And Grand- 
mother Sweet shall tell me how, for every- 
body loves her.” 


BOX FROM GREAT-AUNT SARAH 271 


But Grandmother shook her head. ^^That 
is something thee will have to learn for thy- 
self. Only I will tell thee one thing, if thee 
would win love thee must first give love; 
whatever thee would get out of life thee must 
first put into life.’’ 

Miss Silence had been going over the things 
again with her practised eye. ^‘See here, 
Rose, we can wash up this black and white 
check and it will make you a good school 
dress, with a color for piping to brighten it. 
And I have been looking at the black velvet 
and I’m quite sure I can get you a little coat 
out of it. We can use the brocade for lining, 
and there will be plenty of feather trimming, 
even when the bad spots are taken out. That 
will look nicely with your new red dress.” 

‘^And I will make you a little black velvet 
turban, and trim it with red ribbon to match 
your dress,” added Mrs. Patience. 

‘^And I will show you how to put new feet 
in the stockings.” Grandmother Sweet had 
drawn one on her hand. ^ ‘ They are a good, 
fine quality.” 

Rose looked from one to another. ^^What 
should I have done if I hadn’t come here? 


272 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


You know just wkat to do every time. And 
when the world looks all grey, if it isn’t quite 
> black, if I can see it through your eyes, why 
it’s pink and rosy again.” 

As Rose was saying this she gathered up 
the articles and put them back in the box 
once more. -‘I suppose you can find a use 
for this purple silk. Perhaps when I’m old 
and wear a cap it will come useful. ’ ’ 

For answer Miss Silence laughed and 
nodded, There will be some place where it 
will come in yet. ’ ’ 

^^Rose,” said Mrs. Blossom, think it is 
time the chickens were fed.” 

This was something Rose had begged to 
do. They were a tamer flock than Mrs. Ha- 
good ’s, petted as was every living thing about 
the Blossoms, and it was an unfailing pleas- 
ure to have them run to meet her, to feed 
them out of her hand, and to smooth their 
white feathers as they crowded around. As 
she took the measure of yellow corn from the 
back of the stove where it had been warming, 
the big Maltese cat rose and purred beside 
her. ‘‘No, Dandy,” and she gave him a pat, 
“you can’t go with me this time, the chick- 


BOX FROM GREAT-AXJNT SARAH 273 


ens don’t like yon; you jump and make them 
flutter.” 

As she spoke she looked for something to 
put around her and her eye fell on the cape 
which lay this time on the top of the box. 
‘‘I have just thought what I can use it for,” 
and she laughed merrily. can wear it out 
to the chicken house; the chickens, I know, 
will enjoy pecking at the bugles. That would 
certainly be making use of it.” 

She paused with her hand on the door. 
‘‘Will I have to write to Great-Aunt Sarah 
and thank her?” 

“Don’t you think that you ought to?” Mrs. 
Blossom questioned in turn. 

“I am not sure whether I do or not. But 
one thing is certain — if I do write to her you 
will all have to help me, for I should never 
know what to say. ’ ’ 

“I know what I should like to say to her.” 
Silence Blossom’s tone was scornful, though 
she waited till Rose was out of hearing be- 
fore she spoke. “I would like to tell her 
that such a lot of good-for-nothing old stuff 
I never saw sent away. I have heard stories 
of the boxes sent to some of the home mis- 


274 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


sionaries out West, and I think this must be 
like them. Any woman of sense might have 
known that those things were not suitable for 
a girl of Rose’s age.” 

‘‘At least the material was good,” urged 
her mother. 

“You mean it had been, but it was past that 
point. It’s very evident that Great-Aunt 
Sarah buys good clothes for herself. Some- 
thing new for Rose for a dress would have 
done her more good than all that cast-off 
finery.” 

“To my mind the letter was worse than 
the box,” declared Mrs. Patience. “I never 
heard anything more heartless and cold- 
blooded. One would have thought the mere 
facts would have aroused a sympathy for 
Rose.” 

“She is coming in,” cautioned Miss Si- 
lence, “and we would not say anything be- 
fore her. But this much is certain, that I 
know all I want to of Mrs. Sarah Hartly.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


QUIET DAYS 

You may have seen a little leaf that has 
fallen into a stream and been whirled along 
by the unresting current, torn and bruised 
and helpless, then suddenly drift into a still 
and quiet pool and lie tranquil, unvexed, 
while the stream, unable longer to clutch it, 
goes hurrying by. So to Rose, after her trou- 
bled, changeful childhood, Parmdale was the 
quiet pool, where she was to find a quiet, un- 
eventful period. 

Not that Rose ever thought of it as un- 
eventful. To her school life she brought an 
enthusiasm that never flagged; the school 
tests, the class competitions, the school en- 
tertainments, the school games, and even the 
school ditferences, she entered into them all 
heart and soul. She studied hard, she took 
eager advantage of every opportunity, and 
was none the less ready for every enjoyment 
with the keen zest of her intense nature. 

275 


276 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


Then outside the school was the village with 
all its people and all their happenings, a lit- 
tle world of itself. ‘^Some of the girls call 
Farmdale dull and poky, ’ ’ she repeated won- 
deringly to Miss Silence. ‘‘I’m sure it isn’t 
dull to me — I don’t see how they can think 
it is.” 

The Blossom household quickly became 
home, and home folks to Rose. But when 
Mrs. Blossom promised for her the same care 
she would have given her own little Rachel, 
she included also, what she would have ex- 
pected of little Rachel had she lived, as she 
had of her other daughters, the yielding of a 
ready, cheerful obedience. Mrs. Blossom’s 
law was one Rose had known little of, the law 
of love, but none the less was it law. Never 
in their girlhood, and hardly in their maturer 
years, had Silence or Patience Blossom 
dreamed of acting in opposition to their 
mother’s will — that reasonable, mild, but in- 
flexible will. And though Rose had not hesi- 
tated to face Mrs. Hagood’s fury, yet when 
those clear, steadfast eyes looked into hers, 
and that kindly but firm voice said, with its 
accent of decision, “Rose, you cannot!” she 


QUIET DAYS 


277 


instinctively realized that here was a force, 
the force of moral strength, that impetnous 
willfnlness would beat powerless against. 
Nor was her affection for Mrs. Blossom any 
the less sincere because of the obedient re- 
spect on which it was founded. 

Great-Uncie Samuel had been rightly in- 
formed that the Farmdale high school was a 
good one, and the lessons Eose learned within 
its walls were to her of value ; but no less so 
was the unconscious teaching of the pure and 
unselfish lives that were open before her 
every day. Over an ardent young life, full 
of dreams and plans and ambitions, all cen- 
tered in self, a happier influence could not 
well have fallen than that of these gentle, 
kindly women, whose spirit of helpfulness 
and sympathy was always as ready and un- 
failing as the flow of the fountain itself. 

Was any one in distress, in perplexity, in 
trouble ; there was no counselor so wise, dis- 
creet, trustworthy, as Mrs. Blossom, who held 
half the village secrets, and had served as a 
peacemaker times without number. Was 
there a bride to he dressed; no one could do 
it so well as Miss Silence or Mrs. Patience. 


278 


NOBODY’S EOSE 


Was any one sick; no nurses were as tender 
and skillful and tireless as they. Did the 
shadow of death rest over a home ; no voices 
could speak words of sweeter comfort to the 
dying, no other’s presence was so unobtrusive, 
so helpful in the house of bereavement. In- 
deed, few were the families in that little com- 
munity to whom they were not bound by the 
cords of a common sympathy in some hour of 
joy or grief. And Eose was not the only one 
who often wondered how with all the calls 
upon them they still managed to accomplish 
so much, and with a manner so unhurried. 

don’t see how you ever do it,” Eose ex- 
claimed one day. 

‘‘It’s the busy people who find not only the 
most time but the most happiness,” was Si- 
lence Blossom’s cheery answer. 

And realizing, as she well did, how much 
more of real happiness there was in the mod- 
est Blossom home than in the big Fifield 
house, where no one ever thought of going to 
ask a service, and every life was wholly self- 
centered, Eose could not but admit that this 
was true. 

“I don’t see what happiness you could fin d 


QUIET DAYS 


279 


in sitting up all night with Aunt Polly 
Brown/ ^ she protested. ‘‘I’m sure I never 
want to go where there’s sick people. I hope 
I’ll never be asked to.” 

Already in that home where thoughtfulness 
for others was part of the daily life, and in- 
terest in any who were suffering a matter of 
course, it had come about naturally that Eose 
should be sent with a handful of flowers, or 
some dainty for a sick neighbor, or was asked 
to call at the door with a message of inquiry. 
So the next day she took it as a matter of 
course when Miss Silence asked her to take a 
bowl of chicken broth to Aunt Polly Brown. 

“Take it right in to Aunt Polly,” said the 
young woman who opened the door. “She’s 
in the bedroom right off the sitting-room.” 

Eose hesitated. She would have refused 
if she had known exactly how to do so. As 
it was, the bowl trembled a little as she walked 
through into the bedroom, where on a high 
four-post bedstead, under a “blazing star” 
quilt. Aunt Polly lay, a ruffled night cap sur- 
rounding her shrunken face. 

“Well, now,” as Eose told her errand, “it 
was reel kind of Silence Blossom to send the 


280 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


broth. I was just thinkin’ that a taste 
chicken broth would relish. Sit down, won’t 
ye,” with a wistful accent, ‘^and tell me 
what’s goin’ on? Mary Jane never knows 
nothin’. Mebby I ain’t goin’ to get well, but 
’tany rate I like to know what folks is doin’.” 

‘‘I was standing on one foot wondering 
how quick I could get out,” Eose said, relat- 
ing it all to Miss Silence, on her return. 
^‘But when she spoke that way I just thought 
that if I were old and sick I’d be glad to have 
somebody come in ; and I sat down and racked 
my brain to tell everything I could think of. 
She seemed real cheered up when I came 
away, and I promised her I’d come again.” 

^^I thought you never wanted to go where 
there were sick people,” and Silence Blos- 
som’s eyes twinkled. 

‘‘Well, it wasn’t so bad as I thought it was 
going to be, though her hands are kind of 
skinny. And I don’t think I feel quite as I 
did about sick folks now. Besides, it must 
be dreadful to lie in bed day after day, and if 
I can make a little of the time pass, why I’m 
glad to. ’ ’ 

There is where the gladness comes in,” 


QUIET DAYS 


281 


said Mrs. Patience. is making the honrs 
of suffering a little brighter, a little easier. 
And now you have. learned this I think you 
will never forget it. ’ ’ 

‘‘And I also remember that I promised to 
come down to Helen Green’s to get out my 
Latin with her,” and gathering an armful of 
books Eose hurried away. 

“I am glad that Eose went in to see Aunt 
Polly; she is such a bit of sunshine that she 
could not help but do her good. Besides, she 
has always had such a morbid dread of a 
sick room, ’ ’ Silence remarked as she watched 
her away. 

“I am glad, too,” agreed Mrs. Blossom, 
“for Eose can gain as well as give. Of 
course I would not want her to go where there 
was any danger, but her exuberant young na- 
ture will be made the deeper and richer for 
being stirred and lifted out of itself.” 

So among the threads of interest running 
from the Blossom home Eose knit her threads. 
The people of Farmdale became her friends, 
and because they were her friends she loved 
them, and so it was not strange that she won 
love in return. With the Fifields her rela- 


282 


NOBODY’S BOSE 


tions through the years continued of the 
friendliest. On her part the painfulness of 
being falsely accused had faded away; and 
on their part the fact that it had been an un- 
just charge had not only made them one and 
all feel that they owed her something in re- 
turn, hut had awakened an interest in her 
that otherwise they might never have felt. 
Miss Eudora regarded her in the light of a 
romance; Miss Jane Fifield commended the 
fact that she was neither vain, nor, as she was 
pleased to put it, silly’’; while Mr. Nathan, 
in his pride at Rose’s persistence, and the 
quality he called her ‘‘grit,” went so far as 
to freshen up the languages of his college 
days, that he might the more help her. 

At their time of life it was not to be ex- 
pected that the Fifield nature would greatly 
change ; still their friendship for Rose, inex- 
perienced young girl though she was, brought 
a new and wholesome atmosphere into the 
old house. Her flitting in and out, bright, 
breezy, vivacious, was a welcome break in 
their old formality. A part of Rose’s nature 
was her overflowing enthusiasm on the sub- 
ject then in mind; her studies, her school 


QUIET DAYS 


283 


pleasures, whatever part was hers in the life 
of the village, was all shared with her friends. 
So when she came in beaming with excite- 
ment over the prettiness of the newest Banby 
baby. Miss Fifield and Miss Eudora became 
conscious that Mrs. Banby was a neighbor. 
Or if it were anxiety how little Mrs. Mather, 
whose husband had just died and left her 
with five children, was ever going to get 
through the winter; or rejoicing that Fanny 
Barber, who had been so low with inflamma- 
tory rheumatism was really improving, al- 
most before they were aware, they would find 
themselves becoming interested, an interest 
that could easily take the form of a bundle 
of warm clothing for the widow, or a glass 
of Miss Fifield ’s famous quince jelly for the 
invalid. And so by the slight touches of 
Eose’s hands they found themselves drawn 
gradually from their cold isolation, and 
nearer to those about them. 


CHAPTEE XXIII 


A VISIT FKOM AN OLD FEIEND 

Theough Cousin Allen Gloin’s wife’s sis- 
ter, who lived in Horsham, Eose occasionally 
heard of the Hagoods, and the year after she 
left there was surprised by the news of Mrs. 
Hagood’s death. 

^^Mr. Hagood takes it real hard,” added 
her informant, ‘^and says he don’t know how 
he’s ever going to get along without Almiry. 
Some folks thinks it’s put on, but for my part 
I don’t.” 

^‘No, indeed,” had been Eose’s answer, ^‘1 
think he had grown so used to her ordering 
him around that now he does feel lost with- 
out it.” 

It was not quite two years later when one 
day, returning from school, Eose found a 
horse and buggy standing at the Blossom 
gate. ‘ This of itself was nothing unusual, for 
the business of Mrs. Patience and Miss Si- 
lence brought a large share of the Farmdale 
284 


A VISIT FROM AN OLD FRIEND 285 


people, as well as those outside its limits, to 
their door. But as Rose gave a second look 
in passing at the fat old horse and stout 
buggy, she suddenly realized that she had 
known both before, and quickening her steps 
she rushed into the house to find Mr. Ha- 
good, with Rover sitting upright beside him, 
waiting her coming. His was the same fa- 
miliar figure she remembered so well — thin, 
grizzled, slightly stooping; hut Rose saw al- 
most in the first glance, that his motions were 
brisker than in the days when she had known 
him, that his whiskers had been trimmed, that 
his hat brim had taken an upward tendency, 
and his eyes had lost their furtive, timid 
glance ; in short, that there had been a change 
in the whole man, slight hut still palpable, in 
the direction of cheerful, self-assertive man- 
hood. 

‘‘Well, now, Posey,” was his greeting, as 
he held both her hands and smiled till his 
face was all a-crinkle, “if it don’t heat natur’ 
how you’ve growed ! An’ prettier than ever, 
I declare ! I tell you I was reel tickled when 
I heerd how well you was fixed, an’ that you’d 
found out your reel name, an’ your ma’s re- 


286 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


lations. You don’t look much like the little 
girl Almiry brought home with her from the 
Refuge. ’ ’ 

‘‘And that you gave the russet apples to?” 
Rose’s eyes were twinkling, hut the tears 
were very near them as she recalled that day 
of her arrival at the Hagood home. 

“So I did, to he sure. Well, Posey — if you 
hev got another name you’ll always he Posey 
to me — ^we did hev some good times together, 
didn’t we?” 

Then they talked over the pleasant mem- 
ories of their companionship, with a mutual 
care avoiding those whose suggestiveness 
might he the opposite. The only allusion he 
made to her leaving was, “Rover an’ me did 
miss you dreadfully when you went away, we 
just did. An’ so to-day, as I had to come 
over this way, I said to Rover, ‘We’ll stop 
an’ see Posey, we will.’ I’m glad we did, 
too, an’ I just believe Rover knows you.” 
And Rover, with his head on Rose’s knee and 
her hand smoothing his silky ears, gently 
thumped his tail on the floor, as if in affirma- 
tive. 

Then, after a moment’s hesitation, “I was 


A VISIT FROM AN OLD FRIEND 287 


sorry you an’ Almiry couldn’t fit together 
better; she meant well, Almiry did, but you 
know she’d never had any little girls of her 
own.” And as if fearful that he had cast 
some reflection on her memory he hastened 
to add, Almiry was a wonderful woman. 
I tell you I met with a big loss when I lost 
her, I just did, an’ for a spell I was about 
broke up.” He paused with the query, 
s’pose you’d heard she was dead?” 

‘‘Yes, but I never heard the particulars. 
Was she sick long?” 

“No; it come so onexpected it just about 
floored me, it did. You see she was taken 
with a chill, an’ she kep’ a gettin’ colder ’n 
colder, in spite o’ everythin’ we could giv’ 
her, an’ do for her. Why, it did seem that 
what with the hot things we give her to drink, 
an’ the hot things we kep’ around her, that 
if she’d been a stone image ’twould a warmed 
her through; but they didn’t do a mite o’ 
good, not one mite. She was took early one 
morning, an’ late the next night I was warm- 
in’ a flannel to lay on her. I het it so ’twas 
all a-smokin’, but she couldn’t feel nothin’, 
an’ she give it a fling, an’ riz half up in bed 


288 


NOBODY KOSE 


an’ spoke, just as natural as slie ever did, 
‘Elnathan Hagood, I don’t believe you’ve bed 
that nigh the stove; what ails you that you 
can’t half do a thing? I’ve a good mind to 
get up and heat some flannel as it ought to 
be done. I won ’t hev any till I do. ’ An ’ with 
that she fell right back on her piller, an’ 
never breathed ag’in. I tell you I was all 
broke up.” 

Eose did not know what she ought to say, 
so she said nothing. 

Mr. Hagood hesitated, cleared his throat, 
and remarked in an inquiring tone, ^‘Mebby 
you’ve heard that I was married again?” 

It was Eose’s turn to be surprised. ‘^No, 
indeed, I’ve heard nothing from Horsham 
since Mrs. Gloin’s sister left there. But I’m 
glad if you have. ’ ’ 

‘‘Be you really?” his face brightening. 
“Well, now, you see,” with the confidential 
tone Eose remembered so well, “mebby some 
folks ’Id think I hadn’t orter done such a 
thing. But I tell you after a man has had a 
home as many years as I had it’s kinder tough 
to be without one. I couldn’t live alone; 
Eover an’ I tried that, an’ everything got 


A VISIT FROM AN OLD FRIEND 289 


messed up dreadful; keepin^ a hired girl 
wasn’t much better; an’ to eat my victuals at 
somebody else’s table didn’t seem reel natu- 
ral, now it didn’t. 

‘‘I thought if Almiry knew all the circum- 
stances she wouldn’t blame me none ef I did 
marry. An’ there was Mirandy Fraser, Jim 
Fraser’s widow — don’t know as you ever 
knew her, a mighty pretty little woman — she 
was havin’ a hard time to get along with her 
two little girls, for Jim never was noways 
forehanded. So I figured it out that she 
needed a home, an’ I needed some one to 
make a home; an’ the long an’ short of it is 
I married her. An’ the plan’s worked first 
rate, well now it has. She ain’t such a man- 
ager,” he admitted, ‘‘as Almiry was; but 
then,” with a touch of pride, “I don’t sup- 
pose it would be easy to find Almiry ’s equal 
there. But I’ll say this, I never did see Mi- 
randy’s match for bein ’ pleasant. I don ’t be- 
lieve anybody ever heerd her speak cross, I 
^ really don’t. She’s so contented, too, with 
everything; hasn’t given me the first fault- 
findin’ word yet, not the first one.” 

“How nice that is !” Eose rejoined heartily. 


290 


NOBODY’S BOSE 


the little girls,’’ all the lines on Mr. 
Hagood’s face deepened into a tender smile 
as he spoke of them, ‘‘Susy an’ Euth, I just 
wish you could see them; there never were 
two prettier-behaved children, if I do say it. 
They like to come out an’ sit in the shop when 
I’m at work there, just as you used to, an’, 
well, they an’ Eover an’ me has some pretty 
good times together.” 

Eose smiled. “I don’t believe they enjoy 
it any more than I did. ” 

“I don’t work so much in the shop, 
though,” he added, “for I’ve a good deal to 
look after. I’m over this way now on busi- 
ness. The fact of the matter is,” an accent 
of dejection creeping into his tone, “I’ve 
made a bad bargain. Ever since Almiry 
went I’ve kept everything up straight as a 
string, an’ haven’t lost a dollar till now. I 
s’pose she’d say it was all my fault, an’ so it 
is,” growing more and more depressed; “for 
I suppose I ought to hev known better than 
to hev ever lent Tom Hodges a hundred 
dollars. When he moved away from Hor- 
sham he couldn’t pay me, but he’d got a 
good place as foreman in a mill, an’ promised 


A VISIT FROM AN OLD FRIEND 291 


it all right. That was eight months ago, an^ 
IVe never seen a single cent, so I made up 
my mind I’d go over there an’ look him np, 
an’ I found Tom to-day down with the rheu- 
matism, not able to do a stroke o’ work, an’ 
they looked in pretty bad shape — ^well, now 
they did. Of course he couldn’t pay me, said 
he hadn’t but two dollars in money, but there 
was a cow, I could take that towards it ef I 
wanted to. But bless you, there was four 
little children who would hev to go without 
milk ef I took the cow, an’ I told Tom I’d 
wait on him till he could earn the money, 
which just the same as meant that I’d give 
it to him, for crippled up as he is he can’t 
more’n take care of his family. An’ when 
I come away I handed his wife five dollars ; 
she looked as though she needed it, an’ 
they’ve both always done as well as they 
could. I don’t know what Almiry’d say ef 
she could know it. But hang it all ! ” giving 
his hat a slap on his knee, ‘‘Mirandy said not 
to be hard on ’em, an’ it won’t kill me ef I do 
lose it. 

‘‘No, I can’t stay all night,” in answer to 
Rose’s invitation. “I brought Mirandy an’ 


292 


NOBODY’S EOSE 


the little girls to my Cousin Em’ly^s, ten mile 
from here, an’ they’ll be lookin’ for me hack. 
But I wish you’d come an’ see us, Posey,” 
as he rose to go. ‘‘I’ve told Mirandy about 
you, an’ she’d do everything to make it pleas- 
ant. We haven’t changed things any to 
speak of since you was there, only we live 
more in the front part o’ the house. I 
couldn’t help feelin’ at first that Almiry 
wouldn’t like it, hut I wanted to make it 
pleasant for Mirandy an’ the children, an’ 
you know it wasn’t what you could call reel 
cheerful in that back kitchen.” 

“And can Eover come in the house now!” 
asked Eose. 

“Yes, Eover comes in, an’ we hev the 
front blinds open, an’ evenin’s last winter 
we’d hev apples an’ nuts an’ popcorn, ’most 
as though it was a party. You know,” with 
a broad smile, “I never had any children o’ 
my own before, an’ I sort o’ enjoy havin’ 
some little girls to call me ‘Pa.’ ” 

Eose had come out along the walk with Mr. 
Hagood. As they paused at the gate he 
glanced around to be sure that no one but 
her could hear him, then lowering his voice 


A VISIT FROM AN OLD FRIEND 293 


as though fearing it might reach the ears of 
the departed Mrs. Hagood, he added confi- 
dentially, ‘^An’ to tell the truth, Posey, just 
betwixt you and me, I never was so happy 
before in my life as I he now. ’ ’ 


CHAPTEE XXIV 


AND COLLEGE NEXT 

It was the third May that Eose had been 
in Farmdale. The turf on the open green 
was emerald velvet, the orchards were drifts 
of pink and white, the lilacs by Mrs. Blos- 
som’s gate were lifting spikes of lavender, 
and shrubs and roses were heavy with the 
weight of hud or bloom. In a swift rush 
Eose came down the walk, the white gate 
clashed behind her, and she dashed into the 
house, rosy and breathless with haste, waving 
a long envelope over her head. 

^‘What do you think that is?” she cried. 

Miss Silence glanced up from her sewing 
machine. ‘^It looks to me like an envelope.” 

‘^And what do you think is inside it?” pur- 
sued Eose. 

^^A letter is usually inside an envelope,” 
answered Mrs. Patience. 

.^‘You won’t guess,” pouted Eose, “so I 
shall have to tell you, for I couldn’t possibly 
294 


AND COLLEGE' NEXT 


295 


keep it. This is mj certificate that I have 
passed the teachers’ examination I went to 
last week, and am dnly qualified to teach. 
Wish me joy!” 

‘^But I thought thee went to the examina- 
tion simply for the practice,” said Grand- 
mother Sweet. 

* ^ So I did. But all the same I wanted to 
pass, and was so afraid I wouldn’t pass. 
That’s why I didn’t say more about it. And 
now that I have a really, truly certificate to 
teach! I’m sure I’ve grown an inch since I 
took it out of the post-office.” 

‘‘We are very glad you succeeded,” and 
Mrs. Patience held offi a hat to see if the 
bunch of flowers was in the right place. 

“And that isn’t all,” Eose went on 
blithely. “You need sixteen points to grad- 
uate from the high school, I have fourteen 
already, because I’ve taken extra studies; 
to pass the teachers’ examination counts 
two points, so now I can graduate this 
year. ’ ’ 

“But why do you want to graduate this 
year? I supposed of course you were going 
one more,” and Silence looked her surprise. 


296 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


want to get to teaching. I’m just crazy 
to begin.” 

^^Rose, Rose,” Mrs. Blossom in the next 
room had heard the conversation, and now 
stepped to the doorway, ‘‘you are too young 
to think of teaching ; even if you are qualified 
you have not the self-control a teacher 
needs.” 

“Oh, don’t say that!” groaned Rose, 
“when I have struggled with my temper, and 
prayed over it, and counted a hundred be- 
fore I spoke, and bitten my tongue till it 
hied, and did all the things I ever heard of to 
hold on to myself.” 

“And you have done very well,” com- 
mended Mrs. Blossom. “You have over- 
come much, and learned some hard lessons 
in the bridling of your quick tongue, and hold- 
ing in check your temper. But you have still 
more to learn, especially if you are going 
to teach. I know, for I was a teacher myself, 
and while text-books and methods change, 
boys and girls, as far as I can see, remain 
about the same. ’ ’ 

“All I ask is the chance to try some boys 
and girls.” 


AND COLLEGE NEXT 


297 


‘‘Besides/’ Mrs. Blossom’s voice was 
calmly even, “I do not think you can teach, 
that any school hoard would hire a girl of 
seventeen. ’ ’ 

“But I know people who have taught when 
no older than that,” persisted Eose. 

“That might have been once hut it is not 
now. Indeed I am quite sure that a law has 
been passed in Ohio that a teacher cannot 
draw pay unless she is over eighteen.” 

“It is a mean old law,” scorned Eose. 

“Another thing,” continued Mrs. Blossom, 
“your Uncle Samuel is your guardian, and 
he did not expect, any more than we did, 
that you would leave school till next year ; 
and before taking such a step you must con- 
sult him.” 

“Great-Uncle Samuel won’t care,” urged 
Eose, “and I’ve set my heart on getting 
through this year. Besides if I can’t teach 
I can go to school another year, and take 
Latin and German, and review the common 
branches.” 

“You write to Mr. Jarvis first, and see 
what he says,” and Eose knew further argu- 
ment was useless. 


298 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


Rose waited and fretted for two weeks be- 
fore an answer to her letter came, and when 
she read it she gave a gasp of surprise. 
‘‘What do you think!” she exclaimed. 
“Great-Uncle Samuel says I have been a 
very prudent girl, while from my marks — 
you know I have sent them to him every 
quarter — I seem to have made good use of my 
opportunities ; so if I will continue to be pru- 
dent he thinks there will be money enough 
for me to go to college for four years. This 
is what he writes: ‘Of course not to a big 
expensive college, that would be quite beyond 
your means, the Fairville Woman’s College 
is the one I have chosen for you. I am told 
that it is an excellent school, that the loca- 
tion is healthy, and the moral tone excellent. 
That you will make good use of its benefits 
I shall expect. Of course your Aunt Sarah 
Hartly ought to have seen to this for you, 
but as long as she wouldn’t I have done what 
seemed to me the best.’ ” 

“Four years in college, will not that be 
fine!” Silence Blossom’s own eyes were 
bright with pleasure. 

“Yes, I suppose it will,” Rose spoke 


AND COLLEGE NEXT 


299 


slowly. ‘ ‘ But, you know, I never had 
thought of such a thing as college being pos- 
sible for me; I did not think that there was 
money enough for that. Of course I shall 
like it, the only thing is it will make me so 
old before I get to teaching. ’ ’ 

The older women looked at Eose^s face, 
that had never lost its child expression, and 
laughed at her words. 

^‘It may be though,’’ she went on, “that I 
can put in extra studies and shorten the 
time. ’ ’ 

“No, no,” protested Mrs. Patience, “to 
do your best work you do not want to hurry 
it.” 

Grandmother Sweet stopped her knitting. 
“Eose, my husband while a lad served five 
years as apprentice to a carpenter. His own 
work was of the best, and he often said that 
time spent learning to use one’s tools was 
time saved. Now, thee is planning to use 
books as tools, and the better thee under- 
stands them the better work thee will do.” 

“Oh, of course,” Eose hastened to say, 
“now the chance has come to me I wouldn’t 
miss it for anything. And I will make the 


300 


NOBODY ROSE 


best of it, too. I’m going to send right away 
and get a prospectus of the college to see 
what the entrance requirements are. I’m 
not going to be conditioned, and I’d rather 
be a little ahead. I had planned anyway to 
read Virgil this summer with Mr. Fifield, 
and I can study up whatever else is needed. ’ ’ 
‘‘I think if you are going to college this 
fall you will need to do some sewing as well 
as studying,” suggested Miss Silence. 

‘^Of course I shall. I know I can’t spend 
money for a great deal ; what I do have I want 
neat and in good shape. I’m so glad to know 
about it now, for I can plan the dresses I will 
need when I graduate from the high school 
so I can use them then. ’ ’ 

^‘How many will you needi ” asked Silence 
Blossom. 

‘ ‘ The other girls say three ; a suit for the 
Baccalaureate sermon, another for the senior 
reception, and the graduating dress.” 

^^That last will be white, and will answer 
for your best white dress all the year, and 
if you get a pretty grey for your suit that 
will do for fall wear.” 

^^That makes two new dresses,” reflected 


AND COLLEGE NEXT 


301 


Eose. can’t afford any more, and one 
other still to be evolved. I wish the waist 
wasn’t so badly worn to the lavender and 
white striped silk Great-Annt Sarah sent in 
the last box; it would make a pretty dress, 
and I could mend up the cream lace to trim 
it.” 

Before Eose had ceased speaking Miss Si- 
lence was turning the leaves of a fashion 
book. There is a dress in this last number 
that I believe we can copy, and use the pur- 
ple silk she sent you once to combine with 
it. The solid color will give it character, 
and the lace will soften and keep it girlish. ’ ’ 

Eose was looking at the plate. ‘^Yes, that 
will be pretty. You are the very Wizard 
of Old Clothes. And if there are scraps 
enough of silk and lace left I will make a 
little hat with purple violets for trimming to 
wear with it.” 

She paused and lifted an impressive finger. 
‘^But mind this, when I get to earning for 
myself I will have some pretty dresses, and 
never will I wear any more of Great-Aunt 
Sarah’s cast-offs!” 

Mrs. Patience smiled indulgently. ‘‘You 


302 


NOBODY’S ROSE 


are young, Rose, it is only natural you should 
feel so. But you know you are denying your- 
self now so that day may come. ’ ’ 

know it,’’ Rose nodded. ‘‘When I 
have had to go without things I wanted and 
that other girls did have, I’ve said, ‘Never 
mind, you are having an education.’ I ex- 
pect to have to say that pretty often when 
I get to college — it’s hard to realize that I 
am going — but I’m not going to forget that 
I’m working for a purpose.” 

“And that’s better than fine clothes.” 

Rose twisted her face. “I wouldn’t object 
to the fine clothes if I could have them. But 
I suppose I shall need some dresses for every- 
day wear ; the blue dress I had last year will 
do for that, won’t it?” 

“Yes, and there is your green and red 
plaid. You can have some separate waists, 
too. I’m sure. Rose, we can have your ward- 
robe in shape, that if not fine, it will be neat 
and tasty.” 

“What could I ever have done without you 
all?” Rose paused and sighed. “I am glad 
that I can go to college. I shall be gladder 
the longer I realize it. But I feel that it will 


AND COLLEGE NEXT 


303 


just break my heart to leave here. If I could 
only take you all with me or bring the college 
to Farmdale.’’ 

‘‘We are glad that you can go to college, 
Eose,’’ Mrs. Blossom’s voice had not quite 
its usual firmness, “but you may be sure of 
one thing, we shall miss you more than you 
will us. But it is a long time till September ; 
we will not begin the parting yet.” 

“And of course I shall come back in vaca- 
tions ; everybody goes home then, and this is 
my home.” 

“Do you think a college freshman will re- 
member how to gather eggs?” asked Mrs. 
Patience. 

“This one will, you may be sure,” laughed 
Bose, “and how to make omelet, and cus- 
tard, and cake with them when they are gath- 
ered. It’s a pity Great-Uncle Samuel never 
comes so I can show him how you have taught 
me to cook.” 

It was a busy summer for Bose; she went 
over all the studies in which she would be 
examined for entrance to college, she sewed 
and gathered and tucked and hemmed, and 
when the September days came she packed 


304 


NOBODY’S EOSE 


her modest wardrobe in her new trunk with 
a curious mingling of dread and delight; 
dread at leaving the life she knew, the friends 
she had proved ; delight in the new and wider 
world opening before her. 

There had been talk of Mrs. Patience going 
with Eose, but it had not proved possible, so 
when one sunny September day the stage — 
the same stage that had brought her to Farm- 
dale, stopped at the white gate, and her trunk 
was strapped on, with a mixture of tears 
and smiles the good-bys were said, and Eose 
settled herself in the same corner of the 
back seat she had occupied on that day which 
now seemed so far, far in the past, no longer 
a forlorn little figure, dingy, travel worn and 
friendless ; but a trim young girl in a pretty 
grey suit, leaning out and waving her hand- 
kerchief in answer to those waved to her 
from nearly every house. For Eose’s 
friends included almost every one in Farm- 
dale, and all her friends were interested in 
her start for college. ^ 


THE END 


* « 


JUL 8 1912 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


□ □□ESbEDHD*^? 


